


Is It Over Yet

by roseprice612



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood and Injury, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, everyone hates each other, if you dont like blood dont read, literal trash, this is a shitshow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 23:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseprice612/pseuds/roseprice612
Summary: this is a shitshow. everybody's favorite ginger elf is rescued from a cliff, and yet he is not rescued. it will be a long while before he truly sees where he is





	1. Chapter 1

It was not their brother that returned to them.

The brother they remembered was tall, strong, and more of a father to some of them than their actual father was. He had stubborn stone-grey eyes, tanned freckled skin and a jawline that could cut metal. And his kindness was far beyond many they'd met.

The one that returned to them was crumbled, weaker than a newborn and certainly requiring more attention than one. His skin was a terrible sickly gray, his eyes were dark and sunken in like a rat's, and the squareness of his jaw was no longer recognizable from the scars and burns that riddled it. His kindness did not exist, nor any personality at all. And he did not speak much at all.

In his time in captivity, he'd learned to only speak when spoken to and to keep your head down in the presence of others. It should not have been as hard as it was to catch on to these rules. He only spoke the foul language of the orcs, none of the old Quenya he was used to, and over time his mouth got used to speaking those words.

When he was "rescued", as Findekáno said, he was unconscious and the color of death. Many hours the nurses spent crowded over him, applying salves and poultices and stitching up the blunt nub of his arm. He didn't wake for over ten days, and Findekáno counted every second of it.

He was sitting beside the bed, as always, in a wicker chair covered in blankets. He often slept there and barely moved at all for hours. But he was awake at this moment, and he read aloud poetry to maybe soothe his cousin in his dreams. He froze when there was a groan in the bed.

"...Maitimo?" He paused, setting the book down and slipping the bookmark inside it. The night terrors required his full attention. "Maitimo?"

Another groan. Findekáno leaned in, and that pained scrunched up face slowly revealed the dark gray of his irises. Findekáno bit back a gasp and waited for the corpse to wake.

He groaned and shifted in place, not able to move much in weakness. "...Where am I...?" He rasped, his voice barely recognizable and low enough to not be heard. When his eyes scraped over the dark form sitting next to him he shut his eyes again and sat back, his face bracing itself.

"Maitimo?" Findekáno repeated now, for the third time. His behavior was worrying, and he didn't know how to help him. "You're home, Maitimo, I rescued you and- Maitimo?"

Maitimo flinched every time that name echoed through the tent. But he did not speak. He would not speak. And Findekáno remembered the nurses telling him to report when he woke, and so he sprung to his feet and shot out the front flap of the tent, looking around quickly to find anyone to relay his message.

There was a young soldier just to the right, bearing the insignia of Fëanor, her figure outlined by the silver light of the moon. Quickly he ran to her, panting with anticipation. "I need you to fetch a nurse, a healer, please! The King has woken, he's woken!" And the woman took one look at him, the wide brown eyes and narrowed eyebrows, and ran off into the night, towards the main tents.

Findekáno hurried back in, praying he hadn't fallen back asleep. He wanted to talk to him, to see him and hear his voice again, no matter how broken it was.

"Maitimo," He called, earning another flinch from the figure in the bed. "Maitimo, I've just sent for a nurse. Do you think you can stay awake just a little bit longer?"

He looked up, though not at his face, and studied what he saw. "Yes." He answered, though it was garbled and certainly not Quenya; this time, Findekáno flinched. "Or- _yes_." Maitimo thought maybe his Master wanted him to play along, to play the game. How his Master loved to make him play these games. And so he spoke in his natural tongue, not without the nasty accent of the language of orcs.

"Do you hurt? Do you need any milk of the poppy? Belegurel left a bottle in case you woke up, which you did, but- do you need any? Are you in pain?" Findekáno was rambling, and he wanted to slap himself for it, but he was just so nervous. He did not know what to do.

"I feel perfect, Master." Maitimo did not look up again, that rotten voice lilting through the stiff air painfully. But there was a silence, and silence meant _bad_ , and bad meant _pain_ , and so Maitimo shook his head and tried again. "I feel fine- Finno." More chunks of silence. "I hurt, then." Findekáno drifted to his bedside, and couldn't find the words to speak. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I feel fine. Good. Terrible. What do you want from me? I'm so very confused, Master- I'm sorry, I'm-"

"Shh." Findekáno dropped to the ground beside him, a hand on the blanket draped over the living corpse. His heart beat like a snare in his chest. He thought he was his torturer. "You're home. You're home, Maitimo, I rescued you." His heart hurt from simply looking at him, from seeing the tortures done to him first hand. Minding the pun, of course.

"I'm sorry," He echoed, the steady fear in his eyes growing at each length of silence, his voice and expression breaking down to nothing but sobs. Findekáno edged himself onto the bed, to perhaps hold his cousin in his state, though every time he moved close or raised a hand he flinched and cried out. A nurse entered the tent as soon as Findekáno stood and stepped away.

"What's going on here?" Belegurel, an elder Sindarin woman cloaked in entirely gray, hurried to the table and laid out her things.

"I don't know- I don't- I didn't know what to do, he's delusional!" Findekáno shook his head and stood behind the table. He had scared Maitimo somehow, and just the thought of that terrified him.

Belegurel took a damp cloth to the bedside, inspecting the crooked body before her. He had torn open stitches on his shoulder from his movement, even as small as it was. "Calm down, please." She crouched over to dab away the thin trickle of blood. He didn't flinch at this, something Findekáno found strange, and instead moved his head to watch her movements carefully. The few tears that had squeezed out of Maitimo's dead eyes dried away and he just stared, watched that nimble hand like a dog would to a whip.

"Are you in pain?" The nurse asked, bringing Maitimo's attention momentarily to her face before he looked down.

"Am I supposed to be?" He looked his body over, his semi-covered torso and crooked legs. "I'm sorry."

"I would certainly be surprised if you were not, but..." Belegurel turned and shifted some things on the table. She pulled away surgical thread and a needle and Findekáno pulled a chair over for her to sit by his side. "You do not seem to be reacting to any pain. Perhaps the milk of the poppy has lasted through your sleep."

"Am I supposed to be reacting?" His voice cracked and dropped low. Findekáno tried not to pay attention to the accent his words clung to, even as he spoke his native language.

Belegurel only pursed her lips for a few moments, tugging the torn thread free with the needle and placing it aside. "If you are not drugged."

"Am I drugged?"

"You tell me." She poked the needle through his slowly healing skin and carefully pinched it together. "How do you feel?"

"I..." There was some bewilderment on Maitimo's face. He glanced quickly back to Findekáno, avoiding his face. "How am I supposed to feel?"

At that second Belegurel finished her few stitches and tied it off, pulling back and raising her eyebrows questioningly as she sat against the seat. Terror bled through Maitimo and he inched back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- it is just- usually, Master, you tell me my conditions. I am only-" The nurse lifted her chin, and Maitimo took that as anger and began to tremble. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Master, I won't- I won't ask questions again. I won't."

Belegurel turned and looked back to Findekáno. The patient's rat-like eyes flicked between them, trying to gain some clue as to what they thought. Belegurel was concerned, that was for sure, but Findekáno was absolutely horrified. Never had he thought the damage to be so terrible.

"Maitimo-" He started, causing another flinch.

Belegurel stood. She was focused on Findekáno. "You will not tell his brothers he woke." She pointed a bloody finger at him, paused and went to the table to clean her things up. "He thinks us false. A figment of his imagination. His brothers will only think he is insane, and it will destroy them. They will not know he woke."

"And... is he insane?" Findekáno looked to his cousin, the air awfully tight. The tent felt as if it were on fire.

"Hm." She wrapped her medical supplies in a bundle and hoisted it onto her hip. "Depends on how you define insane. I do not think so. We only need to break his belief in this illusion, and then he will be fine. For the most part." She walked to the flap of the tent, stopping and turning. "I have seen many of Sauron's playthings before, my lord. And it is no easy road. If there is a road at all." She bowed her head. "Good night."

She swept out of the tent at that. Findekáno was left in the bitter silence, and Maitimo shaking in the bed. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. With great courage he sat back in the wicker chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and trying to soothe his cousin. A few tears had dripped from his eyes.

"Do you remember in Tirion," Findekáno managed a smile, and Maitimo opened his eyes, "When we used to race down the main road? In the market? You'd dare me to steal hot cakes from the pile of pastries, but I never could. I always went back and paid for it."

Even if the path was difficult, that didn't mean Findekáno would refuse it altogether. He was used to challenges. And he would stay with this one, especially since it benefitted his best friend.

"I don't want to remember, Master." Maitimo sobbed. A sigh escaped Findekáno. A grieved sigh.

"Do not call me that. And look at my face." He leaned forward further, trying to study every scar of his cousin's face. Slowly Maitimo looked up, obeying, his sunken eyes taking in every detail. A second passed and he became entranced, even weakly inching his left arm up to caress the weather-worn skin of Findekáno's cheek. Maitimo's doubt in reality flickered. Never had his Master made such realistic effects to his cousin's face, from the effects of the Ice. And never had his Master created an illusion with such realistic properties. The sealskin tent... the softness of a fur blanket...

His head craned upwards to study the right arm lifted above his head. The nurses had placed it in such a way to not harm the destroyed muscles any further. His eyes inched up the scarred skin of his arm, a ghastly gray in color, and found nothing but a blunt stump. Confusion etched his features into a terrible scowl. Findekáno saw it and tears welled up inside him.

"I'm sorry," He managed. "I had to. I had to cut it free. Your hand was bolted into the stone."

Maitimo remembered that day. He had gotten in the middle of a squabble between Sauron and Morgoth. Though technically it wasn't his fault, as he was only crouched there, chained to a wooden stake in his own fluids, he'd never admit that to himself. It _was_ his fault. Morgoth lost his temper per usual, and instead of taking it out on Maitimo like he usually would with a whip in hand and a fire in his eyes, he accidentally stepped forward and slapped Sauron so hard the lieutenant went stumbling backward. Maitimo had never seen the Dark Lord do such a thing. The tenseness in that room was enough to make him collapse. Sauron released his mortal form and fled the room as nothing but fire. Morgoth turned on Maitimo and dragged him out to the cliff-face, squeezing the metal of his manacles right into the mountain, melding his hand to the stone while he did so. Maitimo stayed there for weeks. Sometimes Sauron would visit him as fire, as he'd taken a curious liking to him in their time together, and fed him scraps like a dog. All the food was burnt, but it was food.

"I asked you to kill me," Maitimo remembered. His head sunk back down to look at Findekáno's face again. "You didn't kill me. So this must be false. This is an illusion. Master's illusions are unbreakable."

"I am not Gorthaur." Findekáno cried out, tears beginning to fall. It was all too much, the confusion in his eyes and the scars on his skin and the absent hand. "I am Finno. Your cousin. Your friend. I cut you free from the precipice, I saved your life."

"What life?" Maitimo said, and Findekáno's head shot up from his boots to stare. The harmed was serious. "You always told me I was nothing. Slaves don't have lives. Not for themselves. If you cut me free then I intend to serve once again for as long as I am able." Finno sobbed, Maitimo continued. "You are right about saving me, Master. I needed saving. My purpose is to serve you."

 _"I am not your Master!"_ Findekáno shot to his feet and shouted louder than he should've. Maitimo flinched terribly and inched back. He expected a beating. "I am Finno, Findekáno! Your cousin, your best friend, your _soulmate!_ Don't you see me? Don't you see my face? You're free! You're no longer with the Dark Lord, you're in my father's camp! You're free, Maitimo, you're free!"

An unbearable silence filled the tent. An owl croaked outside, and the wind whistled, but that was all the noise they heard. There was a ringing in Findekáno's ears, a voice telling him _you shouldn't have said that you shouldn't have shouted_ , and a pain filled him to the brim. The two of them were completely still, Maitimo awaiting his beating and Findekáno shocked by himself.

"Maitimo-" He started, stepping forward a bit. But Maitimo didn't flinch, he didn't react to the name at all.

Instead, he grabbed the clay cup on the bedside table and whipped it at Findekáno's head.

Not having the best aim, and Findekáno not expecting it, it smashed against his bare arm and shattered to the floor. He stumbled back, grasping the table to steady himself and prodding the gash opened on his forearm. In disbelief he looked up, finding nothing but a husk of a person, wild animalistic eyes glowing from a crouched form. Raw fear filled Findekáno's heart and he backed towards the door.

"Maitimo, I..." He murmured. Maitimo growled. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He fled from the tent with a haste in his feet. The ground pounded against his leather shoes, cold air whooshing against his face. He stopped short when he reached the main tents. Should he tell someone what happened? His father, Belegurel? No, not them. They'd blame him for getting himself hurt and scaring the patient. He walked past the healer's tents and into his own. He could fix the cut himself.

A shard of clay had sliced right through the skin, and the blood was now dripping precariously from his wrist. With a grunt of pain, Findekáno yanked the shard out and tossed it aside. He didn't think Maitimo had thrown it so hard. He wrapped the cut quickly and quietly, as to not wake anyone, and after that, he crumbled onto his bed and sobbed.

What had he done wrong? What exactly was it that he said that made his cousin thrash out like that? More importantly, how was it that the strong, stubborn Maitimo was so weak and rabid and so utterly broken down? His mind seemed to be inexistent. At least, his old mind. The mind Findekáno knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all these chaps are short cause i get overwhelmed seeing 50,000 words and like one chapter so... you're welcome


	2. Chapter 2

Findekáno stood and paced all through the night. Not once did he pause or stop, not even when he heard the pounding of footsteps past his tent that meant the soldiers had woken and began their day. Not when he heard Belegurel speaking nearby. And not when Makalaurë was calling his name loudly and hurriedly.

"Findekáno!" The minstrel shoved the flap aside and peered into the area. It was bright outside, and his eyes needed a second to adjust to the dimness. "Findekáno, where have you been?"

"I've been here all night." He barely glanced to his cousin and didn't stop his pacing.

"Why? Why have you been here all night? I told you to stay with my brother, I told you he needed you! We found him sprawled on the ground this morning, out of bed! There was a mug shattered on the ground. What the hell happened?"

Findekáno didn't stop, but his hand went to the cut on his arm, covered by his sleeve. "I needed some air."

"Needed some air?" Makalaurë scoffed. " _Needed some air?_ Cousin, the healers have to re-stitch six of his wounds. This is because of you - because you decided you needed to ditch him all night!" When the pacing didn't stop Makalaurë grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. "Look at me! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Findekáno stared right through the minstrel's head. There were dark circles under his eyes and pain written on his features. His thoughts that had mulled all night came out without warning. "I don't know if this was worth it."

There was a silence then. Findekáno hadn't felt such a fire in the air since Fëanor, and immediately he stepped back. Everyone knew not to mess with Makalaurë when he got fired up.

The minstrel let go of Findekáno's arm, stepping back a bit also. But his disbelief was quickly replaced by anger, and he back-handed his cousin right across the cheek.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He hissed, grabbing a handful of braids as Findekáno went tumbling back. "Not worth it? Not _worth_ it? He's our brother, your cousin, and friend, our King, and for thirty years we grieved for him! Not worth it? _Not worth-!"_

His voice was awfully shrill and hurt Findekáno's ears. "I was the one who rescued him! I saw him, Makalaurë, I saw the... the effects on him. I..." He went to say something else, but his mouth closed and the breath caught in his throat. He didn't seem to care about the fist in his hair and the pain on his scalp but rather terrified, by the look in his eyes.

"What?" Makalaurë's voice was awfully low, though still burning. "What did you see? Did my brother wake?"

Findekáno paused. He shouldn't have paused. "No." The hold tightened on his hair, and he cringed and inched back, craning his head sideway to avoid more pain. But he did not answer again.

Makalaurë dropped him, and he tripped back onto the side of his bed. "He woke. He woke and you did not come to me. Findekáno, I _told_ you- I told you to come to me."

Findekáno clutched his head and dropped to the floor, breathing heavy and bringing his legs to his chest. "You do not understand." He took a long deep breath and managed to look up a bit. There was a fury in his cousin's eyes that made his heart ache. "It was a mercy to not tell you. He... He is not himself. He's... He's not the same person that you remember." The memory of Maitimo laying crouched in the bed under fur blankets with shining silver eyes and growling like a kicked dog made a shiver ring through Findekáno's body. "He's like an animal. I... I didn't know what to do. I... I... I raised my voice. I didn't mean to. He kept saying- his _Master's_ illusions are unbreakable, that he was nothing more than his slave- his _plaything_ \- and- I got worked up. I was terrified, Makalaurë. I was terrified. He threw a mug at me. I ran. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll go back, I'll sit by his side and I won't leave-"

"Cousin." Makalaurë had noticed the terrible fear in Findekáno's voice (he'd truly be dull not to), and so he dropped down to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was only trying to protect him, as all. "I understand. You don't need to beat yourself up over it. I guarantee I would not have been as smooth as you in that situation. You did the best you could."

Findekáno sat and breathed for a minute. He had to calm down. And he had to return to Maitimo. Apologize for his behavior, be moderate and calm and understanding. "I'm sorry." He murmured again, placing his hand over Makalaurë's. "I will go to him. And I will tell you if he wakes." He stood slowly and tiredly, not having slept for at least two days. But he could manage. For Maitimo.

"I am sorry for- for hitting you." Makalaurë stood with him and brushed himself off. "It was unwarranted of me, and frankly, it was uncalled for. I am forever indebted to what you did for us."

"Oh, do not be so formal." The shorter one laughed, finally more upbeat. "You should walk with me to see Maitimo. Maybe he has woken again."

Makalaurë accepted and walked beside him towards the large, cornered-off tent, draped in the insignia of the house of Fëanor. All the soldiers in the camp steered clear of it by miles, all but the one sentry standing outside. Belegurel met them halfway with an exhausted frown on her face.

"My King," She bowed her head to Makalaurë and turned her head to the one beside him. "My lord, the patient has been... fitful. He-"

"Is he awake?" Findekáno raised his eyebrows and glanced at his cousin beside him, who looked more serious than ever.

"He's been awake." She sighed, tucking her bundle under her arm and stopping at the flap of the tent. "He refuses to sleep. We have tried everything, and... We just don't know what to do."

"Have you drugged him to sleep?" He roughed his hands together, a nervous habit.

"We have. We've tried everything." She said. "I was actually just on my way to get you. He yells in- in that language, he screams and all we can understand is your name."

"He calls for me?"

"Yes, my lord."

Findekáno glanced at Makalaurë again. "Well, then let's see him."

Belegurel lifted the flap for him and stopped Makalaurë. "My King, not yet. We do not know how he will react to you yet, you must... You must wait."

"He is my brother." The minstrel scowled but stepped back. "I have not seen him for thirty years."

"I'm sorry, my King. But he is not ready." And she bowed and entered the tent swiftly. Makalaurë shifted on his feet awkwardly and looked at the sentry. She noticed him looking and bowed her head.

"Send word to me _immediately_ if anything happens." He ordered, getting back, "Yes sir," and turning and walking back to his own tent. How tiring this process was.

Maitimo was awake. He was all the way awake, in fact, and sat a bit upwards, propped up on pillows. His right arm was leaned horizontally next to him as two other nurses checked his stitches. His face was a stark white, his bare chest the same color, and the harsh divots in his skin made Findekáno want to back out of the tent again. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to see the brand on his pectoral muscle, woven horribly into his flesh. The brand that meant he was a slave, and that he still thought he was a slave.

"Maitimo." He called, stepping further into the room and swallowing his fear. "I'm sorry for shouting at you yesterday. I shouldn't have-"

Maitimo sat up quite suddenly, flinging the nurse studying his arm aside and causing a worrying crack from his spine. "Findekáno." He called, and already at that Findekáno knew he was at least a little better. "Cousin. Come here."

He forced himself to pick up his feet and walk to him. He swallowed a mass of phlegm. "Yes, Maitimo?"

He flinched. "Come here. Closer." His eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes wide, and it seemed as if he searched the air for him. "Here. I cannot see you."

A pang of fear ran through him. Could Maitimo see? Was that why he had reacted so extremely the night before? "Can you see at all?" He couldn't help asking, and moved until his cousin reached with his left arm and grasped at air. Findekáno slid a hand into his.

"Yes." Maitimo hissed out. "It is too bright. I am used to dark."

A chill swept through Findekáno. He pushed it aside and sat in the chair by his bed, still holding onto his hand. "Yes."

"This is all you touch." He spouted abruptly. He was looking at their intertwined hands. "If you aren't illusions. This is all you touch. The hand."

Findekáno noticed just how short and direct he spoke. And with that terrible accent too, deep and raspy with the unused voice of his. "I will respect that." He sent a comforting smile and Maitimo edged back. The nurse had begun looking his arm over again. The patient squeezed Findekáno's hand, though it did not feel like much at all. Still, he was weak.

"Miss," The nurse looked up from the wrapping on his docked wrist, to Belegurel. "We should check on this? There seems to be a lot of bleeding."

"Of course there's bleeding, it is an amputated limb." The older woman turned from her place at the table, sorting drugs, and drifted over. Maitimo was not paying attention to them. He stared at Findekáno with so much intensity he thought he'd crumble under his gaze.

"My- King," Belegurel addressed, awkwardly looking to Maitimo. Findekáno met her gaze instead. "We need to apply a poultice to the cauterized wound. Do you need a painkiller?"

Maitimo actually laughed at this, though bitterly and humorlessly. "If I had painkiller when Master hurt me I would be the happiest man alive." He looked away from Findekáno's face and stared into nothing.

Belegurel nodded and finished unwrapping the wrist. Findekáno hadn't even noticed when she started. Maitimo did not react to any pain. Even as they dabbed the solution on with a warm cloth he didn't move. Findekáno tried not to flinch either. The cut wrist made guilt run through him like a river, and soon enough he just had to look away, down to his feet.

The nurses had begun to wrap the wound back up before he spoke. "Makalaurë worries for you." He barely murmured, but his close proximity made the words able to reach Maitimo's ears.

"Makalaurë...?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Your brother. Second oldest. The High King in your absence."

"My brother." He whispered and repeated his name to himself three times. Then he understood. "Makalaurë." He sat up. "My brother. He worries- for me?"

"Yes." Findekáno leaned in, to distract him from the nurses, who had begun to wash the blood off his skin with damp cloths. "Yes, he does. He has been as stressed as me, waiting for you to wake."

"How long did I...?" He turned his head to look at his cousin. His hollowed cheeks strained with his jaw to speak. "Sleep?"

"Days." Findekáno shook his head. "Long enough for us to worry. Of course, we'd worry anyway. But you know."

Maitimo nodded and studied Findekáno's face. "Would he sing to me?"

Findekáno sat back and squeezed his cousin's hand lightly. "I think he absolutely would. Should I fetch him?"

Maitimo nodded timidly. He paid no mind to the healers. Findekáno could tell he was in a deep thought, and so he gently brushed away from his hand and stood. With one look at Belegurel he was dismissed, and hurriedly he ran to the king.

Soldiers dove out of his way as he ran, seeing the look on his face. Both the soldiers of his father's following and his uncles following knew just how tense the camp was at the moment, and knew specifically not to get in the way of Fingon.

"Makalaurë!" He called, diving into his personal tent without knocking. He hadn't even thought of a problem with that, his mind only focused on getting to the minstrel.

It was the wrong time to walk in. His cousin was with a woman, one of the captains of his uncle's army from the face he recognized and the insignia on her tunic. They were standing very close. In fact, their foreheads were pressed together. It was the woman who noticed the figure first and shoved away from Makalaurë. Findekáno cleared his throat and his cousin stiffened and turned. His eyes were wide and red.

"Findekáno." He brushed himself off, stood straight, and steeled his expression. "I did not expect you back this early. What are you-" He coughed and glanced at the captain. Nimble fingers rearranged his circlet. "What are you doing here? What is it you need?"

Findekáno stared at the woman for a moment and turned his full attention to Makalaurë. "Your brother asked for you. He says he wants you to sing to him."

"Ah." He nodded and looked to his captain. "To your post," He ordered, and she skittered out of the tent before someone could say anything else. "Well then." He addressed his cousin. There was still a redness to his cheeks. "Let's go."

They walked in relative silence. Findekáno cursed himself for not knocking or making himself known before entering, and Makalaurë cursed himself for being so careless. But neither of them mentioned it for the time being. Maitimo was the priority.

This time, Findekáno knocked on the stake of the tent before being called in by Belegurel. Makalaurë took a deep breath and ducked into the space.

Maitimo sat upright amongst a cocoon of pillows and blankets, his right arm laid horizontally across them and his head pressed back. His legs splayed awkwardly out under thinner sheets, too bony to properly lay flat. Feral gray eyes watched them warily as they sat in chairs beside his bed.

"Brother." Makalaurë greeted and managed a sorrowed smile. "I am so glad to see you."

Maitimo was looking at his circlet. A deep hidden fear soaked his eyes. "Take that off." And Makalaurë's hand went to the golden piece of jewelry questioningly. "Take it off. Off!" His voice rose and broke and hastily Makalaurë took it off. "Put it away!" And he handed it to Belegurel, and she set it behind her equipment on the table.

Maitimo then reached out for his brother, his skeletal left hand trembling in fear. "You look like him," He observed. The hand grasped his brother's and turned it over warily, prodding the skin as he went. "A lot like him. Lift up your shirt." Gray eyes flicked up and met Makalaurë's brown ones, grasping his attention with an iron fist.

"What?" He gaped.

"Lift up your shirt." He demanded. Findekáno didn't think he'd retained that tone, the one where all you could do was obey. It was a king's voice.

Warily Makalaurë lifted his shirt, and Maitimo leaned over in the bed to see. There was a small pink scar running just over his belly button. Maitimo sat back with a sigh and shifted his right arm with a wince.

"Sing to me." He mused, staring now with more fear and more worry. His cheekbones looked even more sunken in, his eyes dark and his body laying awkwardly in a bony pile.

"Sing what?" Makalaurë sat back down and tried not to look his brother in the eye. He was starting to look dangerous.

Maitimo thought. He was solving his Master's puzzle. Deciding whether this was real life or not. He needed something obscure enough that surely his Master would not know it. "Sing that song you wrote to get Tyelko to sleep as a child."

Makalaurë was alarmed. He was shocked by his first two requests, too, but this time he wasn't sure if he could meet it. Did he even still remember the song? It was a simple tune, Makalaurë thought. And so he remembered it.

The singing was a light, lilting tune, like a fresh summer day. Maitimo's face changed from worried to horrified to grieving within two minutes. Findekáno wished to reach out his hand and hold him, to comfort him, but he knew that would only make it worse. The redhead was sobbing. His scarred skin pulled horribly into a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pressed together. He was a silent crier.

Makalaurë finished the song. He hadn't previously noticed his brother, crying heavily in the bed. He froze and his head shot to Findekáno. "Brother?" He whispered. He forced himself to move and get closer to Maitimo. "Brother, what... what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

It took a long while for him to answer. When he did, his voice was nothing more than a rasp. "This is real." His left hand wandered again, looking for something to grasp. He avoided other hands and instead clutched the soft fabric of the sheets. "This is real. This is real. I'm here."

At the same moment, the minstrel and the cousin realized Maitimo's intentions. His demands, his strange behavior, and unwillingness to accept reality. He was trying to figure out where he was. He was trying to win the incessant mind games that Sauron had played with him.

"You're home," Findekáno spoke, his eyes dimly lit and shining with tears. "You're home, Maitimo. You're home."

There was a silence in that room. Outside they could hear the bustling of soldiers, clanging of a blacksmith's hammer and wails of the injured. Maitimo heard only half of it. He was more focused on his cousin's and brother's breathing, the creaking of his bones as he trembled and the streaking sunlight that lit up the gold thread of Findekáno's hair and the deep chestnut of Makalaurë's.

"I didn't tell them," He said, though he didn't know why. "I didn't tell them anything, they tried and they tried and they did whatever they needed to but I didn't tell them."

"What?" Makalaurë leaned in further to hear him and shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"About our plans. The number of troops. Of weaponry, anything. I didn't tell them. I wanted to. But I didn't." He gripped the sheet harder and twisted in place, trying to see the two of them better but crying out as his back rubbed against the bed. Now that he knew it wasn't his Master who created this illusion he allowed himself to feel pain.

"We weren't worried about that, Maitimo." Findekáno put his hand on the bed and bit his lip hard when his cousin whined. "We're only worried about you. None of that matters now. What matters is that you're safe and you're here. Do you understand?" He added when Maitimo writhed and moved his head away. "Are you hurt? What hurts?"

He was looking at his blunt wrist. "You cut it off. You..." He reached with a shaking left hand to brush against the wrapped edge. A scream ripped through the room, of pain and fear and sudden overwhelming emotion. It was loud enough that for a moment the entire camp went still. The blacksmith's hammer went silent, the footsteps of masses of soldiers stopped and even the cries of the injured ended.

Then it continued. Makalaurë and Findekáno stood abruptly, and Belegurel ran to the side of the bed from her place at the table. She had ignored them for the most part, wanting to give them privacy, but she couldn't ignore the scream. She held a small vial of white liquid, maybe to stop the pain or to put him to sleep.

"Get away!" He shouted, his voice rising a pitch and cracking. "Away!"

"My King, you will reopen the-"

Maitimo went stiff. He breathed heavily and stared Belegurel in the eye, stopping her speech right there. The healer went rigid, her hands by her side and her back and neck straight, the vial shattering on the ground as her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed.

"Belegurel!" Makalaurë ran to her and sat her up. She was passed out cold. Findekáno stared at the patient with fear and stepped towards him carefully. Makalaurë took Belegurel's pulse and sighed in relief when it was apparent she was not dead.

"Maitimo," Findekáno called. The skeletal head whipped back to him, and in those gray eyes was something wild. "Maitimo, it's alright. Everything is okay. There's no need to hurt anyone. Hey, hey-" He kneeled beside the bed and raised both hands so Maitimo could see them. "I'm not trying to hurt you. None of us are trying to hurt you. We want to help."

"Get away from me!" He wrapped the blankets tight around him as if they'd shield him from the world. "Don't touch me!"

"I won't touch you. Maitimo, I only want to help. Please-"

Maitimo screamed again. He thrashed in his place in the bed, trying to get out and scramble away. The blankets were yanked away from his body, his legs looking more like knobby branches reaching over the side of the bed. He was hysteric. The gray in his eyes was glowing now, silver in the daylight and feral as a wildcat's. Findekáno leaped after him as his legs buckled under his weight, and behind them, the flap opened.

It was Tyelkormo. His pale golden hair was pulled into a ponytail, revealing the freckled skin of his face. There was a horrible fear in his eyes.

Maitimo must've thought him to be someone else, his Master perhaps, though his brothers and cousins would not have known. He reached past Findekáno with his stunted wrist and crooked hand, reaching for that blond figure in the doorway.

"TAKE ME BACK!" He screeched, his voice broken and dry and not sounding the least bit like him. "TAKE ME BACK, TAKE ME BACK!"

"Maitimo, please!" Findekáno begged, dragging him to the bed and holding him there. Not like it was all that difficult since he was still weak, but tears began to fall from the rescuer's eyes.

Tyelko stepped into the room and saw Belegurel on the floor. "What's going on here?" He breathed, going back to staring at his brother, turning his head side to side to avoid looking at one thing in particular. Tyelko wondered if he even should have come, his stomach churning at the sights he was met with. "Brother?"

Maitimo paused at that, his eyes unfocusing but his head craned to the side to hear. Tyelko stepped closer and he tugged at the iron grip of his cousin above him. "Who is that?" He groaned. "Who is that? Who calls me brother, who stands there?" When there was a second of confused silence he moaned and laid back, panting. "Master? Have you come to steal me back? Master, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you can take me and you can put me back on the Post. Punish me. I'm sorry. I thought- I lost. You win. You win. The illusion was impenetrable, you win, you win, you win and I lose. Please punish me."

Findekáno released him. For a terrifying moment he doubted reality too; this had to be a mistake. This couldn't be Maitimo. This couldn't be his most beloved cousin, the one he'd spent summer days with and the one he'd laughed and cried and played with. It was a mockery of everything he knew.

"Tyelkormo." He stood straight and did not look to the blond as he called him. Tears streamed down his face, but his face did not twist in any way. To the others in the room, he was numb. "Tyelkormo. Hold him down."

He went to Belegurel's things, stepping over her body and Makalaurë still on the floor, and picked up the bottle labeled as a liquid he knew to be an instant knockout. He turned to see Tyelko still at the foot of the bed, paralyzed in uncharacteristic fear. His eyes were as wide as they would go, misery and regret etched all over his features. "Fine," Findekáno turned back to Maitimo, his form distorted amongst the pillows. "Then I will hold him down."

The next action made both brothers in the room look away. Findekáno pressed one forearm across his chest, preventing him from getting up, and forced his mouth open with his other hand. He poured the pinkish fluid down his throat and pinched his nose to force him to swallow. Maitimo twitched and thrashed for a moment, gagging and choking. Then he stilled, and his eyes drifted shut.

The room was the result of a disaster. Sheets spilled over the side of the bed, pillows were strewn across the floor and the skeleton in the bed laid crooked and broken. Tyelkormo did not move. He did not look up from his shoes. Makalaurë was startled when Belegurel woke.

The day passed like nothing Findekáno had felt before, after that. Belegurel re-stitched Maitimo's wounds, and explained the rare form of magic he had used to knock her out and said something about being gentle with the patient. He didn't hear much of it. He sat in that wicker chair again, a blanket across his lap and a numbness filling his body. He would not leave the room. He refused lunch, and dinner and all the rest of the rest of the meals offered. He couldn't stomach it. So he sat. And he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains some mature scenes/themes, so... if you aint mature DONT REA D

A few days passed. Maitimo did not wake, Findekáno was glad. He needed more time to think about how to handle the situation. None of the brothers visited. Findekáno was glad about that, too. He didn't want to face them, nor did he want to converse with anyone at all. He would admit to himself about thinking once or twice about the woman he saw the King with. She was pretty, he would give him that. But he saw no need in mentioning it to anyone.

It was on the fourth day, just past dinner, when Findekáno got his first visitor that was not a healer or a nurse. It was his sister. She was back from her hunt. And she was there looking for her brother, not her cousin.

"Finde?" She called, just outside. Findekáno opened his eyes. He had eaten a bit of bread and was looking to digest it before having to deal with anyone. "Finde?" Her voice called again, and finally, a dark hand pulled the flap of the tent aside. His dark-haired sister stepped in when she saw brown eyes staring back at her.

"Finde, you're missing quite the dinner." She started, flowing into the tent. She had not even undressed yet. Her boots were caked in mud and deer's blood stained her linen tunic. "Tyelko has started three fights yet, and Makalaurë is being oddly suspicious. What're you doing in here, soaking up sickness?"

He did not look up at her. "I am only thinking. I do not wish to join the festivities."

She stepped closer and examined the room and his position. There was a small pile of golden thread on the table beside him, and his hair was unbraided and wild about his head. "Have you moved from that chair once since I've been gone?"

He huffed. "To piss."

"You're disgusting." She pulled a chair over and sat, crossing a foot over her knee and leaning her head back. She sat like the man-soldiers of his uncle's army. "You should join us, Finde. What are you really doing in here?"

Findekáno could not answer that with words. All he could do was turn his head to look at his cousin, still unconscious and skeletal in the bed. Some of the minor cuts have begun to heal up. The nurses said that in a week they would heal over. The larger scarring, though, like his back and hauntingly, his inner thighs, would take much longer to heal. Months maybe.

Irissë saw the look on her brother's face and sighed. "He will heal, brother. In time."

"I have begun to doubt that." He admitted, surprised even by his own words. "He is not the same."

"Of course not." She gestured with her hands. She liked to speak with her hands. "Nor are we the same from our journey. We have changed."

"You do not understand..." He broke his gaze from his cousin and stared instead at the mud on the bottom of his sister's boot. She couldn't understand. "You did not see him. You did not hear the way he spoke... He thinks- he thinks this is all an illusion. An elaborate lie built by his Master."

Irissë shifted. She was uncomfortable. She clicked her tongue. "He will heal. He only needs to adjust." She stared when he did not answer, and studied the many folds of his blankets. There was a stack of books beside his chair. "Is that a journal? What are you studying?"

That was another question Findekáno did not think he could answer. He had spent his time thinking and sitting very methodically. He wanted to know more about how Maitimo had been treated so he could know what to be wary about. He started with the brand on his breast. it was different than the orcs and uruk he had encountered. It had the seal of Morgoth, of course, but there was more underneath it. So he went through records and studies of the Dark Lord and his system.

"Him," Findekáno answered shortly. He gestured to Maitimo. With as much courage as he could muster he continued. "You see the brand, the one on his chest?" He leaned over the body and pointed. Irissë stood and crouched over him.

"Yeah. Isn't it what Morgoth marks all his slaves with?"

Findekáno shivered and nodded. "But underneath it."

She put a hand on his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. There's a bit more. So what? Maybe they messed up the first try."

He shook his head and sat back. Irissë sat back down too. "No. I looked through records, writings of other survivors. Those captured or created are given... roles. Usually it is the Dark Lord who assigns them and they are branded by his captains, but for whatever reason Maitimo- he was given the seal of Mairon." He pointed to the eye branded onto his shoulder.

"So what's the thing under the standard brand? What was his role?" She crossed her leg again and furrowed her eyebrows, focused yet unsettled. She was tapping her left pointer finger on her right hand, a nervous habit.

Findekáno took a deep breath. He didn't know why he was telling her all of this. But he hadn't spoken to anyone in four days, and he needed to say this aloud. "He was a whore."

Irissë fell quiet. "What?" She whispered.

He wasn't repeating that. "My guess is... his name. They made his name- Maitimo, define him, and..." He trailed off. His hands clasped together tightly in his lap. "There was severe scarring on his inner thighs."

Irissë held her hand over her mouth. That pointer finger tapped her cheeks. "You're kidding me."

Findekáno shook his head and looked down. His foot tapped too, but he had not noticed. "I wanted to know. So I could know what to be wary of."

She sat for another moment. "I will keep it in mind." She got to her feet. "Finde, please join us at dinner. This is all depressing as hell, and... you deserve a break. Come on."

With much effort, Findekáno was brought to his feet and dragged out of the tent. He did not want to leave Maitimo, nor did he want to go to the feast, but it seemed he had no choice. Besides, it could be good to stretch his legs. He gave the soldier standing outside a firm lecture on watching the patient, and was pulled away by his sister.

 

Findekáno let himself go a little too much. He drank glass after glass of some strong wine from the south and found himself joking with his brother and sister and cousins. Once he thought of Maitimo. Then Irissë pulled him away and he forgot.

The food was fresh. Caught in the morning and butchered that afternoon. Findekáno gorged himself on venison and rabbit and sweet honeyed duck, relishing in delicacies they did not often have. With a heavy heart, he remembered the time on the Ice, eating nothing more than blubber of a sea mammal caught days ago. The wine was rich and delicate at the same time. He didn't know where it had come from, or what it was called or what type of wine it was. All he knew was that it made him roaring drunk.

"Sit down, Finde!" His sister shouted over all the talking. She was drunk too, though not quite as lost as Findekáno. She doubted he even knew where he was. "You'll fall!"

Findekáno was stumbling around the feast, clinging to whomever could hold his weight and downing each and every glass. "It's justa bitta fun!" He whined, tugging at Makalaurë's collar. "Right, Malalaurë?"

The King only laughed and brushed him off. He had been talking to the woman, the captain from before. "Sober up, Findekáno. You're too drunk. Here," He grabbed a mug of water from the table and swapped it with his wine. "Drink this. Good." He laughed again and sent him on his way, like a little lost duckling. "Take care of him, will you? Thank you, Irissë."

His sister herded him out of the main tent, giggling and tossing the rest of her wine in the bushes. After seeing the effects on Findekáno, she decided she had better stop. "Come now, brother." She tugged him aside, gasping and jumping back when he almost vomited on her shoes. She lifted him and sat him limply against the stake of the tent. His head lolled and dropped to his lap.

He was sobbing, Irissë realized. His shoulders shook and he brought his hands to his face. "Fin-Finde?" She crouched towards him. "Finde, are you okay?"

He shook his head and pushed hair away from his face. It was still unbraided and curly in a mass around his head. "It's all my fault." He choked.

"Your fault? What's your fault?" She raised her eyebrows and sat in front of him.

"Maitimo. It's all my fault." He looked up, and his eyes were red and wet and tears ran down his cheeks. "I didn't get to him fast enough. I should've- I should've-"

"Hey." She set a hand on his knee. "None of that is your fault. You did the best you could. And you saved his life, Finde. You saved his life."

Findekáno remembered what Maitimo had said. That his life was dedicated to his Master, and that he needed to stay a slave. "I should've done better. He's still broken."

She sat and watched him for a minute. She hated just how sad he was. "Come on." She stood and pulled him to his feet. "You're going to bed. I can't stand your whining anymore."

They walked back to his tent in stifled silence. Findekáno held down vomit and gripped his sister, aware of how drunk he was but not thinking much else about it. Irissë no longer chuckled when he tripped along, more concerned about him than amused. He'd made her sad.

She laid him in his bed and made sure he was tucked under the blankets before kissing his head, standing, and walking out. She vowed to at least fetch his hair ribbons, so he could _not_ make a fool of himself in the morning. Findekáno watched her go with a heavy heart and drooping eyes. He fell asleep in an instant.

Irissë avoided the main tent, loud and raucous and hurting her ears. As she passed the east wing, movement caught her eye. Her hunter sense, though sedated slightly from the wine, still made her step back around the side of the tent and inch forward. There were low murmurs, though she couldn't hear what they were saying. Her eyes caught dark hair and a golden circlet resting crookedly on a braid and shining in the dingy light. In a slowed moment, she realized it was Makalaurë. He was awfully close to some other woman, her hair as black as the night and her skin dark enough to keep her hidden. Almost. Irissë saw everything. She moved towards them, crouched, to hear what they were saying.

"...Don't know what to do." Makalaurë was whispering. "I can't even look at him."

The woman slid her hands into his hair. "It's shit, I know. But he'll get better, I know he will..."

"I don't know." He set his head on her shoulder. He sniffled, and Irissë realized why his normally smooth voice sounded so hoarse. He was weeping. "He does not have the strength he once did. It's hard to see any of him left."

They were talking about Maitimo. They had to be. Irissë stopped short and began to inch back. She was too near them, and she certainly didn't want to get caught. Especially after seeing her brother earlier. She shouldn't be involved in these affairs. It was none of her business, and frankly, she didn't want to be involved. She slipped away from the east wing and headed over to the dark tent she knew to be the returned King's.

The guard outside watched her as she passed. "I wouldn't." She suggested, not turning her head but clearly speaking to Irissë. "He's been having night terrors. You may be hurt."

She shook hair out of her face and sent a half-hearted smile. "I'm just here to retrieve something. Not to see him." When the guard still didn't look over, Irissë rolled her eyes and pulled back the flap.

There was a single candle lit on the table. It illuminated various colored jars and needles eerily and created an ovular shadow on the sealskin canvas behind it. Irissë shivered and speed-walked to the side of the bed, where the golden ribbon and hair-ties resided. She tried not to look at the contorting figure in the bed. His left half glowed in the candlelight and that blunt wrist was reddened like fire. The collar-scar curled around his throat looked much too deep into his neck.

The White Lady grabbed the pile of ribbon in her calloused hands and turned. Her entire body felt cold. And not the wintery, windy cold that one shivered from and brought furs tighter around. It was the kind that chilled one down to the bones and shook the muscles until gooseflesh appeared bumpy underneath arm hair. The breath had left her lungs and a foreboding feeling filled her body. One foot stepped towards the exit. Somehow, guilt crept into her heart.

A gasp. Not hers. A claw-like hand grasped her wrist.

She stiffened but did not cry out. It was too quiet. She turned, slowly, and found two glowing wolf eyes piercing through her skin. At that moment she understood why everyone kept saying he was not himself. He _wasn't_ himself. He was an animal.

"I do not know your face." He rasped. Irissë jumped at the sound of his voice. It was deep and husky and there was some dark accent there. She remembered the tall redheaded cousin from Válinorë, smiling shyly and freckled as the night sky. This was not that elf.

"You... You don't know me?" She whispered quieter than she meant. He didn't release her wrist, even when she tugged.

"Which captain are you?" He sat up just a bit and held her more firmly with his eyes, glowing like two shards of fire. And then she knew her cousins and brother had lied. He was not entirely gone. Because there was that fire. It was familiar and warm in spite of the situation. "Dulcmel? Athrag? Who sent you? Was it the Masters?"

She swallowed thickly and looked him over. He was completely serious. He thought he was still there. "No one sent me."

He growled, baring teeth. "So you thought you could get your own go at me? I'll only tell Master." She didn't know how to answer that, terrified at what he was hinting. The glowing silver bulbs shot down to her hand, still clutching the ribbons. "Come to tie me up?"

"These are hair ribbons." Irissë narrowed her eyebrows and found herself unable to close her gaping mouth. He growled again and leaned forward. But she didn't understand the next few sentences. It was the dark language, and it hurt her ears. She cut him off. "I don't know what you're saying. Let go of me."

He shouted again in that language but released her. She hurried to the front flap, freezing when he crawled after her in the bed. She turned her head and spoke as she would to the dogs. " _Stay_. Move and I won't hesitate to hit you." And she meant it, and Maitimo knew it. He sunk back into the bed and the wildness in his eyes turned to stifled fear. "Stay. Now sleep. I don't intend to keep you up all night. My brother would have my head." She pulled the flap aside and paused as she stepped into the moonlight. "Good night."

Maitimo was left in a tight silence. He propped himself up in the bed with a bit of difficulty and bowed his head. Everything hurt, but he could manage. It was nothing compared to the usual torture. He mumbled to himself, discussing whether or not this was real. Who that woman was and what she was doing in his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> findekano is a sad drunk, pray for him


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you awake, sir?"

Maitimo jolted and looked around. Sir? Since when was he sir? "Who is that?"

"Your personal guard, my King."

It was a woman's voice, that much he could tell. She pushed aside the flap of the tent and peered in. She had almond-shaped brown eyes, curled hazelnut hair underneath a silver helm and golden skin that glowed under the moonlight. Maitimo stared through his eyelashes.

"May I come in, sir?" But she stepped in anyways and pulled up that chair beside the bed. She slid off the helmet and set it on her lap. "I thought it better to keep you company. Besides, it benefits no one for me to stand outside and you to fret in here."

Maitimo looked her over. She had a thin face but wore no makeup. She was small-chested, wore a man's armor and kept her hair back in a low ponytail. "What is your name, woman?" He inched back in the bed as she got comfortable. He didn't like how welcoming she was being.

"Oh, I'm not a woman." She- He? answered with a side glance. "He. Call me he. And it's Thî."

"Thî." He echoed. "How long have you stood out there, Thî?"

"This is the fifteenth night, sir." He was smiling. Maitimo blinked slowly, his eyes hurt, and did not look away from the soldier beside him. He didn't like how much he smiled.

"Why are you calling me that?" He mused. "Who sent you? What is your purpose here?"

He tapped his fingers across the helm. "I'm calling you sir, _sir_ , because you are my King. And it was your brother who assigned me to this tent to guard you and protect you."

"Protect me?" Maitimo sat back in the bed. "My brother. Is that..." He racked his memory. Another downside of the illusions was that every time they ended, he remembered less of his family. He could not even remember most of their names at this point. "I do not know who you speak of."

"Your brother. The High King in your absence." The soldier sat back and cocked his head. Brown curly hair fell over a lean shoulder. "Called Makalaurë by your other brothers and cousins..."

"I don't..." Maitimo was going to continue, ask who he was and maybe remember, but he stopped. He didn't know why. He wanted to know more. But he couldn't speak. Maybe it was that reflex from years of being a slave, that told you to only speak when spoken to.

He expected the soldier to ask why he went silent, to make it a problem like his other visitors did, but he didn't say anything. He simply sat back and bowed his head. The silence was comfortable. For the first time, Maitimo started to really believe this was real. And for just a few minutes, he relished in the certainty of the feeling of home.

He drifted off into a sleep without realizing it. It was a deep sleep. Deeper than he'd slept in many, many years. And instead of the usual dreams, the torture and the pain and his Master there, laughing at him with a malicious power, he found nothing but black. It was wonderful.

The sun's shining rays woke him. There was a sense of beginning as he opened his eyes, flickering momentarily from the light and grasping the reality around him. Someone spoke in a hushed voice, another joining it between pauses. With an ache Maitimo shifted his weight, trying pitifully to sit up. The voices stopped. A bird chirped.

"Nelyo?" A call. By that name, Maitimo guessed they'd figured out his brand. Gray eyes searched the room but found no one. Shadows, however, crept just outside the tent. The flap was pulled aside and in popped a long kind face and a head of wavy chestnut hair.

"Nelyo, you've woken!" The head slid a body into view, lean and muscular and familiar. His voice was still quiet. The second shadow remained outside.

"Who?" Maitimo didn't remove his eyes from the shadow, even as the body moved closer.

"Hm?" His head lifted and met the dark shape. A red flush grew in his cheeks. "Oh. One of my captains. She was... giving me some advice."

Maitimo broke his eyes away and looked at the one next to him. Long, red, silken sleeves and a high collar, a vibrant tunic, and neutral linen pants. Golden necklaces with shining jewels hung at his neck. A golden circlet swept windingly around his braids. It was the one from days before. The one that had sung. Only, now Maitimo had forgotten who he was.

"Take off." He stared at the circlet. He hated it, he _hated_ it and he didn't know why. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry. "Off." He repeated, and the chestnut-haired singer slid it off and placed it behind him on a table. Then he sat.

"You haven't woken all night." He crossed his hands over his lap. "You slept soundly. I was beginning to worry."

Maitimo remembered something that braided man had said. That they had been worrying about him anyways. Instead of pointing that out, his eyes rolled back to the shadow. "Who is she?"

The singer glanced back at the shape and bowed his head. "One of my captains. Your captain now, I suppose. Her name is Nellrien."

Maitimo considered this. "Bring her in."

"Brother, I-"

"Bring her in." He repeated. He didn't know why, but he needed to see her. He'd heard that name before. Some time, long long ago. The singer stood, his brother stood, and slowly he stalked to the flap and pulled it aside. He traded whispers for a quick moment before stepping to the right and allowing the captain to step into the dark tent.

"My King," She bowed, almost going down to a knee before the singer grabbed her arm. Maitimo wanted to thank him for that. Every time someone even mentioned kingship he could feel his stomach curdle.

"Do not call me that. You know my name, call me by it." He placed his left hand over his stomach and tried not to think about the other hand, still melded to that cliff. "What is your name?"

The singer had just said this, and all three of them knew it. But she answered anyway. "Nellrien."

Maitimo looked her over. Warm, dark skin the color and complexion of chocolate. Dark intuitive eyes. A puff of curly black hair. A surprisingly small nose. Like a button. "Who was your mother?"

"My...?" She narrowed thick eyebrows. "She- she works as a healer in this camp, sir."

Maitimo nodded. "Your father?"

"He went missing." She looked down at this. The redhead saw the sorrow in her eyes, and the slightest bit of sympathy rung through him. "In battle."

"He was called Nodrion."

"Yes, sir."

Maitimo thought again. Maybe his memory wasn't great, and he forgot more with every illusion but seeing this woman sparked many memories in his mind. "I knew him." He murmured. "Come here. Come here."

Nellrien stepped slowly to his bedside. She stared at her feet uncomfortably and the singer at the foot of his bed moved closer. Maitimo thought about taking her hand, but a sob escaped him and he couldn't.

"Sit." He gestured to the chair, and she sat. "In Angband... They have this- this ceremony." He began. The singer flinched at the name. "An initiation ceremony. In the great hall. In front of all the captains of the fortress and all the important figures. You're stripped of your clothes, any weapons they haven't taken already, and... And you're tied to the Post. The Post is this- this big stake that they move around. Mostly it stays in the great hall. They tie you to it. And usually, they whip you."

The singer stepped closer when Nellrien trembled. "Brother-"

"They don't whip you during the ceremony." He continued. He had to say this. He had to. "No. Not then. They tie you up and they brand you. You've seen mine. I was prized. I even got the Eye." Maitimo looked up and met the singer's eyes. "You figured out what my extra brand means. Because now you call me Nelyo. And not Maitimo." He paused, staring his brother dead in the eye. And after a bird chirped outside, he turned back. Nellrien was shaking. "They brand you. Sometimes they don't give you an extra brand. And next... next they untie you. And they hand you a sword. And they form a circle around you and another new slave. Who also has a sword."

A sob crackled past his lips. He closed his eyes and forced himself to think back to that moment. "They had taken him when they took me. Your father." He went to grasp her hand again, but he remembered the face of her father, horrified and bloody. He bit his lip until it bled and spoke. "I'm sorry. I was weak. There is no way to explain it, the fear they could create... How they used it against you... How it took control of you and- and twisted you into a nightmare." A deep breath. "The fight didn't last long. I killed him quickly. I paid for that later. They wanted a show. I was passed around the party and mounted by whoever won me."

The horror in the tent then was worse than it had ever been. The singer was frozen in place, not able to speak in his shock. Nellrien couldn't stay frozen. Because she knew something terrible had happened to her father. And she knew what all of this meant.

"I do not blame you." She cried out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. "I- I knew he had died somehow or another. Thank- thank you for giving me closure."

She stood. This time Maitimo succeeded and grabbed her hand in his.

"I regret it every day." There was a fire in his eyes. "I should have- I shouldn't have killed him. By my own hand. I could've taken the punishment."

"You did the best thing." But Nellrien couldn't look at him. "They would have tortured him. You saved him."

She slipped out of his grip and brushed past the singer, who turned to go after her.

"Minstrel," Maitimo called. Hesitantly the singer turned his head and met gray eyes with fear. "You are my brother, aren't you? I don't think it wise to be sleeping around with-"

"You would know about that!" The singer's expression turned from sadness to fury as his brother mentioned Nellrien again. "Of course you would say it would 'not be wise'!"

Maitimo sat up. His eyes shone silver. If this was an illusion, this is where his Master would reveal himself. This would be the last test. And so he decided to push it. "You have a wife at home. What would she think if she knew?"

A fire Maitimo hadn't seen since their father sprung up in the singer's dark eyes. " _You have no right, you have no right to speak of my wife!_ " His voice was terrible and shrill and hurt his ears. "You would know of sleeping around, wouldn't you! You'd know it not to be wise, wouldn't you! Because you did it _every single_ day!"

Maitimo didn't even flinch. His chest was tight in anticipation. _Slap me.._. He thought. _Make me apologize, hurt me..._

None of it came. What came instead was terror. Terror on his brother's face, realization to what he'd said. Mocking his torture. Mocking his capture and his advice. Maitimo began to sob.

"Brother-" He choked.

"I missed you." Maitimo coughed out. He sat up more now and reached out. "Oh, brother, I- Everything I've done... everything I've said to hurt you, I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything, everything, I regret everything..."

The singer ran to his side. Maybe he should've been angry about his brother using him, but his tiny body shook like a leaf with such violent sobs. "Nelyo, Nelyo I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. I shouldn't have raised my voice. I shouldn't-"

"Shut it." Maitimo gripped his brother's shirt in his remaining hand and brought him close, allowing himself to be wrapped in a hug. It hurt, and it forced back painful memories of his Master's hands on him, but at this point, he couldn't care. He was home. And this was his brother. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, the way his muscles pulled taut against him, and his hair soft as silk against his cheek.

"All of this..." Maitimo whispered, pulling away to look him in the eye and study his face. "...All experienced here, in this tent... It was real?"

"Yes." The singer held his shoulders carefully. "Yes, Nelyo, it's all real. You're really home."

"Set me down." Maitimo managed, and his brother laid him down and pulled a blanket over him. But Maitimo was too happy to be in pain. "My brothers. My brothers, are they here?"

The singer sat on the familiar wicker chair and leaned over. "They're all here. They've been waiting for you, brother. They've all been waiting for you."

Maitimo breathed then, heavily and shakily and trying to regain his voice. It took an enormous effort to say anything at this point. "I don't... Remember. I try..." He coughed and let himself lay limp against the pillows. The smile faded as he tried to remember his brother's names. _So_ hard. "You. You're the oldest. Or the second oldest. Because I'm the oldest. Your name is- is- it starts with _mm_. Ma-Ma-"

"Makalaurë." The singer croaked. His voice was hoarse and it didn't seem right. "I'm Makalaurë."

Maitimo paused and thought harder. He cursed his Master for taking his memories. "Then there's the light-haired one. Right? Right? He has the dog. And then the broody one... And the miniature version of father... and- and..." He chewed his lip as he tried to remember the last two. Anything about them. Anything. "The little ones. Twins. Red hair. I don't..." He let out a sob and his hand grasped Makalaurë's, squeezing it ever so lightly. "I don't remember their names. I'm sorry. Master took these memories from me. All the stress..."

Fortunately, Makalaurë was the most patient of all the brothers. "It's okay. I can help you remember all of this, okay? So you know my name, Makalaurë. And after me is Tyelkormo, the one with our father's mother's hair. His hound is Huan." He scooted the chair closer. "The broody one is Moryo. Then there's Curvo and the twins are Ambarussa. Do you remember..." Makalaurë swallowed thickly and bowed his head. "...The fire?"

This took Maitimo a long minute to mull over. The names brought memories, and the memories brought more emotion than he'd felt in a long while. Whether those emotions were happy or sad he found himself smiling, unable to stifle his relief. But then he _did_ remember the fire, and a whole new horror took over his mind.

"We lost one." He breathed. A tear ran silently down his cheek. His head shot to look at his brother. "He died. Oh, oh- he died. Makalaurë..." He rolled onto his side, crying out in pain as his back rubbed against the sheets but crying again as a wave of grief washed over him. He felt cruel for not remembering. He was the worst brother there ever was, to not even remember his youngest's death.

Makalaurë didn't want to dwell on it. The death still hurt him deeply, and besides - he wanted to see that glorious smile twisted into Maitimo's face. "It has been difficult. But brother, Nelyo- your family is here. I can go get them, I can bring them here for you to see. Would you like that?"

Maitimo shook the thought out of his head and nodded shakily. "I- I would. I want to see them."

Makalaurë met his eyes and raised his brow. "Could you give me another smile? They look very good on you, brother."

He laughed at this. An actual, hearty laugh. It ended with a cough, but the smile that spread across his rough, chapped lips was joyous in every form. "I have missed you."

The minstrel sent another smirk and stood to walk out. Maitimo clasped his hand tighter. "I'll only be a moment, Nelyo, I promise."

"I don't want you to leave."

"Then we have a predicament, don't we?"

Maitimo squinted towards the flap of the tent. That ever-present shadow stood at attention. "Tell my guard to bring them." And his eyes rolled back to the singer.

Makalaurë nodded. "Woman-!"

"It's he." Maitimo slipped in. "His name's Thî."

The minstrel eyed him curiously and cleared his throat. "Thî!"

Immediately Thî slipped the flap aside and poked that golden, thin face in. "Yes, sir?"

"Go fetch our brothers. All of them, if you can. And-" Momentarily Makalaurë looked to the one beside him. "Would you like to see your cousins, too? Findekáno and Turukáno and Irissë are here, as is our uncle."

Maitimo thought for a moment. "Bring them later. I want to speak with them alone."

Makalaurë nodded and looked to Thî. He nodded sharply and turned on his heel. There were scratches of his boots in the dirt as he ran. The camp was quiet that day. The minstrel sat back down and folded a hand over his brother's comfortably.

Maitimo's thoughts were racing. He moved to lay on his side fully, adjusting his right arm so it laid horizontally behind him on pillows. "Can you sing to me?"

"Hm?" He looked up. "Of course. What shall I sing?"

"Anything."

Makalaurë bit his lip, smiling, and decided on just the one. It was light and airy and brought a freshness to the air. Maitimo closed his eyes. He could almost feel himself healing, the beautiful lilting voice softening his ears and drooping his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thî is trans and wonderful, pls be kind


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its just a short shitshow

It was not long before there was a knock on the stake outside. The song drifted off, and Makalaurë leaned over. "Are you still awake, Nelyo?"

"Mm."

"Good. Because your brothers are here." He sat up and looked to the front of the tent. "Thank you, Thî! Let them in."

A rough hand pulled aside the flap and stepped in. Curvo first. His hair was tied back into a ponytail and his face was grim. The next that stepped in was Moryo, his face dark and his hair draped like a curtain over half his face. But that was all. The flap dropped back in place and the two of them stood awkwardly at the end of the bed.

Maitimo stared in confusion. "Shouldn't there be... two more?" He looked to Makalaurë, who had his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"Where are Tyelko and Amras?" He grumbled.

"They set off on a hunt this morning." Curvo rolled his neck and gestured with his hands nonchalantly. "He said he 'just couldn't take it anymore' and took off. Amras left 'cause he said- What did he say?"

Moryo finished. "He said, 'if he does not recognize his surroundings by now, I have no hope that he ever will.'"

That was harsh. Maitimo wanted to cry. They did not understand, they _could_ not understand. How difficult it was to simply figure out where he was, much less remember their names. "But- but I'm home."

"And you've been home for half a month." Curvo was always one for sharp words. "They had gotten tired of waiting for you."

Maitimo shifted on the bed, letting go of Makalaurë so he could sit up. It took a lot of effort, and he cried out when his right arm crackled. It had been moved too much. "You waited thirty years. You cannot wait half a month more?"

"Hey, I was not the one who left on a hunt. Besides, I came when you asked." Curvo leaned against the table and crossed his arms. He always looked so much like their father.

Maitimo looked between his three brothers in the room. "And none of you visited." His lips moved and his words sounded numb, but it did not reach his eyes. His eyes were glowing in fear. "Not after the first time. Makalaurë, you saw me once and gave up. And Curvo, Moryo... You did not even- you did not even come to see me."

"What were we supposed to do?" It was Curvo who spoke again. Makalaurë stared at his feet in shame and Moryo rubbed his face in his hands. "Wait for you to open your eyes? We still have things to do, brother. We still run colonies."

"You do not even prioritize me..." Maitimo continued on, his voice laying over the air like a cloud. "Your own brother. I have not seen you in so... in so long..." He touched the brand on his chest, the scar protruding like fingers under his skin. Makalaurë flinched. "I have waited... waited for this moment, this final reunion for years... I imagined it and created images in my mind, deep in my mind because that was the only place it couldn't be torn out. If I thought about it enough, there was no way I'd forget, unlike everything else..." He was rambling now, but no one stopped him. Curvo stepped from foot to foot awkwardly. Those silver eyes were nothing like he'd ever seen. "I didn't remember your names. Within the first year I forgot what your voices sounded like... How you smelt... The shape of your faces..." Maitimo was awfully focused on Curvo now, a shaking hand reaching for him. "You... You look so much like father..."

Curvo stepped back, his chin raised. "Is this what you called me here for? More pain and guilt?"

Maitimo didn't even flinch. Though his breathing picked up as he leaned forward again. Makalaurë caught the red seeping through the bandages on his back. "You do not even prioritize me. What is the word... what is the word for that feeling- that feeling of sadness, all sadness at once..." He moaned in pain and craned his neck. The collar scar showed momentarily in the light. "I forget the word... that emotion, that feeling. Maybe because- because I have not spoken... not spoken my native tongue in thirty years... Remind me, remind me, what is that word?"

There was a bit of silence then. Curvo bit his lip in impatience and tapped his foot. Moryo continued to stare at the one in the bed emotionlessly, though underneath his heart was tearing itself to pieces. Makalaurë was already crying silently.

"Not sorrow, no..." Maitimo rambled. The light in his eyes was unnaturally bright, though the rest of him also seemed dim. "Not simply sadness, its deeper than that..."

"Misery." The minstrel whispered.

"Yes." Maitimo stared right through Curvo. "Yes. Misery. Abandonment. Hopelessness. Come here, Curvo... Come here, I want to look at you again, I want to see your face..."

Curvo, unnerved by the silver and also frustrated by his brother's words, did not move. "Is this a joke?"

"I don't tell jokes nor do I hear them," Maitimo answered simply. He raised that trembling hand again, reaching uselessly for Curvo. Against his mind's advice, his feet stepped forward until he stood directly next to the bed. A skeletal hand grasped his wrist and, despite being weak, pulled down Curvo to eye height.

"You look so much like father." He murmured. Glowing eyes raked over sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, and dark golden skin. Maitimo was breathing rapidly and erratically now, gasping for air, but it did not stop what he said next. "He would be so disappointed in you."

Curvo stood in shock for a second. Only a second. Then he ripped his wrist out of his grip and slapped him across the cheek. Maitimo flung across the bed, his weight nothing more than bones. He screamed in agony and clutched his severed wrist, which had scraped against pillows. His back and the white sheets behind him were soaked red. He writhed horribly, his spine creaking and twisting and his legs contorted under the covers.

This time, there was no pause. Makalaurë leaped forward, yanking Curvo away and shouting highly, "Are you _mad?_ " Curvo held the hand that had slapped his brother gingerly like it might slap him again. His eyes were as wide as they would go, and would not break from the twisted form.

The guard burst through the doorway, hand on his sword. He looked ready to attack, but as he saw Maitimo in the bed and the situation with the brothers he also put a hand on Curvo, dragging him towards the exit.

"Curufinwë!" Maitimo shouted, raising his head just enough to see him. They stopped dragging him just to let him speak. "Curvo, a few words of advice." A moan passed through his lips. "Do not become our father."

At that, he was pulled away and Makalaurë called for Belegurel. Maitimo screamed in torment, clearly letting out all he'd suppressed that day. The pain of it all. Tears squeezed out his eyes. Blood seeped out old scars. More importantly, he began to laugh amongst the screams, and quickly Moryo exited.

There was hysteria in the tent that afternoon. Hysteria all across the camp, in fact. Curvo was scolded by all those allowed to scold him. Moryo slunk to his tent and did not leave. A rider was sent out to retrieve Tyelkormo and Amras from their hunting trip. Belegurel stood over Maitimo for hours, tending to his wounds, drugging him for pain, and forcing everyone who wasn't a healer away. Thî stood guard as always, unmoving from his post. At one point Makalaurë brought him food.

Laughter echoed from that tent like an alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> curvo's a dick


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The illusion lifts, and joy resumes (kind of).

Findekáno had just woken.

The day was half over. That glorious shining sun lowered herself in the sky, bringing a darkness behind her. The clouds were orange. It would have been beautiful if not for the painful pulsing in Findekáno's head.

A knocking at the stake outside. Oh, so that's what had woken him. "Findekáno! Do you intend to sleep all day?"

"Mm..." He rolled over and rubbed his eyes. It had to be his father, didn't it? Not someone who'd wake him gently. "I'm getting up now, I'm getting up..."

"You'd better get up soon, we've been called on!" Ñolofinwë burst into the tent with no regards. He scowled and tore the furs off his son. "What has you so lazy?"

"Shh..." Findekáno sat up and yawned. "I'm hungover, be gentle with me." He ignored the next string of shouts and brushed himself off. "Who's called on us?"

"Your dear cousin." He said bitterly, sitting backward in the chair at the desk. "You'd better get ready quick. That soldier that always stands guard came running in during my lunch, delightful little woman, and demanded I come before dinner."

"Thî?" Findekáno scratched his nose and paused in sliding on his coat. "Thî goes by him. I'd suggest using that next time."

"Him?" Ñolofinwë leaned forward. "How do you know that?"

"Uh, because I asked him."

"No matter," The father stood and grabbed his son's arm. "No time to braid your hair, just toss it up."

Findekáno groaned but followed, stumbling after him and tieing his hair back into a bun. It seemed the whole camp was running, feet pounding like a rattling snare and voices shouting louder than they usually did. Curiously Findekáno peered around the area, trying to find whether they were under attack or not. He settled for asking his father.

"Why is everyone so frantic?" He wondered.

"Hm." Ñolofinwë huffed, pulling his furs tighter around him and picking up the pace. "Don't know. Maybe it has something to do with our dear High King. It usually does."

Findekáno's heart lurched. "It had better not."

What were they expecting? It did have to do with him, which was clear enough as they arrived at the isolated tent.

"Thî, what's going on?" Findekáno leaned forward to speak. It was awfully loud, and he could barely hear himself speak. Turukáno and Irissë joined them within a minute.

"There was an incident this morning." The soldier bowed his head in respect and cringed. "Oh. Yes, I called on you didn't I? I'm sorry, I do not know if the King is able to see you now."

Findekáno twirled his finger in a loose piece of hair and chewed his lip as Thî spoke. "An incident? What incident? Is Nelyo okay? Is something wrong?" He glanced at his siblings, who were suddenly tense as well. As much as they hid it, they did somewhat care for their eldest cousin's wellness.

"Well, you see..." Thî bit his lip and brown eyes flicked behind him. The tent's flap was still, though it was loud within. "I do not know if I am allowed to say."

"I rescued him from that cliff, I have a right to know how he fares!" Findekáno began to feel frustrated and narrowed his eyebrows. His head pounded.

"The Prince Curufinwë- he lost his temper." The soldier managed. The four of them listening leaned in. "This morning, the King had a long discussion with our former King, and... He finally believes he is safe, and he is here. And so he called on his brothers, to see them and reunite with them, but two of the Princes had left on a hunt this very morning, and Prince Curufinwë repeated what they had said when they left. Very mean things, might I add. And the King did not like it, and in his sadness - he used the word misery, I believe, he insulted Prince Curufinwë and-" He cleared his throat. "And Prince Curufinwë hit his brother. The King had been in quarantine all day."

Findekáno did not ask to enter the tent. He flung the flap aside and ducked into the darkness, his father and sister barely able to grab him as he swept away.

The tent was dark, as always. But there was one thing different. Maitimo was smiling. He laid limp and flat in the bed, his eyes closed but a content smile spread across his scarred lips. A bruise had formed on his cheek from the hit, and Findekáno wanted to personally hunt down Curvo and beat him. So innocent did his cousin look then, his ears perked up and relaxing as nurses fretted and shouted above him. He didn't even flinch as they prodded injuries and rewrapped his leg.

"Nelyo?" Findekáno stepped closer, his eyebrows raising suspiciously. Maitimo opened his eyes and that smile only got wider.

"Dear cousin Findekáno," He breathed, lifting his left arm to reach for Findekáno. "Oh, Finno. Come here. I want to look at you."

Strange request. But nevertheless, he walked to his side, letting Maitimo's hand drag him down to sit on the wicker chair. The remaining hand slid from his shirt up his neck to rest cupped against his cheek. And he began to laugh. It was so joyous that Findekáno couldn't help but chuckle too.

Maitimo sat back with a huff but did not stop staring at his cousin. "Finno, tell these people to let me outside!"

Findekáno cocked his head. "Huh?"

"Let me outside!" He shouted, but his voice was so weak that it was nothing more than a whimper. "I can see the sky glimmering out there, even through this tent! I want to see the sky, I want to see the clouds as a free man!"

Findekáno let out a laugh and looked up to meet Belegurel's gaze. She was frowning. "Well? I think he makes a good argument. It's stuffy in here."

The healer bit her lip and stared the two of them over. "My Lord, can I talk to you out-"

"No," Maitimo cut off. "Whatever you need to tell him you can tell me. I can handle it. I'm not some unstable lab experiment, I'm here. I'm here."

The older woman slid a hand through her brown hair and averted their gazes. Her eyebrows narrowed her eyes. "Fine then. We have no way to support you to go outside in the first place, my King. To move you from this bed may worsen your condition, and you cannot walk." She lowered her head to stare at the ground. "I do not know if you will ever walk properly again."

Maitimo simply looked confused. His eyes began to shine silver. "...What do you mean never walk again?"

"I mean that your spine does not align with your shoulders or hips." She explained, able to raise her head a bit. "The strain on your right arm - and I do not know for how long you hung on the cliff - deformed your spine. Unless we correct it, and that is a very long and tedious process, there would be no way for your legs to support an unbalanced body."

And now Maitimo was determined. He nodded in understanding. "I am willing to correct it. Why can you not move me from the bed, why would it worsen my condition?"

Belegurel took a deep breath. "You already have a concussion and several broken ribs, my King. A few of your toes are broken and somehow your left ankle never healed right after breaking. We had to re-break and set the bone when you were brought here. Besides, the pain would stop you from moving."

"I have felt worse pain than this." Maitimo scoffed.

"You are heavily drugged." The healer pointed out. "You have been since you arrived here."

"I was not drugged when Findekáno cut off my hand." He shot back, shifting in the bed. "I was not drugged when Morgoth whipped me for seven hours straight. I was not drugged when my Master nailed each one of my fingers to a board. I was not drugged when the orcs tied me up and beat me until I vomited blood. I was not-"

"Please, Nelyo." Findekáno cut off. He felt sick to his stomach. "That's enough."

"All I ask is to go outside." Maitimo continued. He pointed to the door with a trembling hand. "Please. I have not seen the sky in thirty years."

"You have seen the sky," Belegurel argued. "When you hung from the cliff."

"You call that seeing?" He growled. The silver in his eyes was brighter. "Master had convinced me it was an illusion. He wanted to keep me with him, but he wasn't allowed. My body stayed outside but my mind was kept locked away. I do not remember what the cliffs looked like. I do not remember what it smelt like, if the air was hot or cold, or whether it was high enough to be cloudy or not."

He was beginning to look feral again. Findekáno sat up and gripped Belegurel's gaze in a steel trap. It seemed almost cruel to not let Maitimo outside.

"Can we not-?"

"No." The healer cut off. She was suddenly very adamant. "I know it is difficult, my King, and I know you want to see the sky, but-" Her eyes met Maitimo's and she gasped suddenly, pausing but continuing. "You will only be more injured."

The silver in his eyes deepened. "If I command it you have no choice but to obey."

"I will not go against what I believe. I know I am correct." She crossed her arms. Maitimo growled.

"I am your King." He hissed. His voice didn't sound like him.

Belegurel saw the glint in his eyes and stepped back, swallowing. "Then act like one. Let your body heal and return to your duties."

The other nurses in the tent went still and silent. "You would commit treason?"

"You would consider this treason?"

Maitimo looked like he was about to make her faint again like he'd done days ago, but quickly Findekáno leaped up and grabbed his cousin's hand. The nurses gasped in sudden fright and Belegurel flinched.

"Cousin, please, this is not you." He murmured, crouching over to talk at eye height. "Calm, please. You do not need to fight about this."

Maitimo met him face on. There was pooling confusion in those unnatural eyes. Findekáno leaned in, wondering if he could even see him, and smiled when his eyes understood.

"I'm sorry." He murmured. "I'm sorry, Finno." And he saw the rest in the room and turned his head to see them all. Belegurel still had her arms crossed. "I-I'm sorry, that was uncalled for." She raised an eyebrow and he looked down. "I should not have said those things. I do not know what happened, I..." Fear flashed through his countenance and only Findekáno caught it. "Master stays with me."

Belegurel moved on quicker than any of them expected. "It is fine. Anyways, you said you were willing to heal, so how about you start with finishing your soup?"

Maitimo nodded and allowed Findekáno to sit down beside him on the bed and feed him. The nurses once again found themselves able to speak and move about without fear. Findekáno wondered if Maitimo's moods would always be so fickle.

"My father and siblings wait outside," Findekáno said after a few minutes. His cousin ate silently and laid at the mercy of the healers. He swallowed, nodded, and gestured to the tent flap to let them in. Belegurel excused herself from her place at his right wrist and swept to the front, pulling the flap aside and ushering their guests inside.

"My King," Ñolofinwë bowed his head, going down to a knee before Findekáno caught his arm and pulled him up. The father sent a strange look and stood straight. "I am glad to see you awake and well, sir-"

Maitimo let out a laugh. It would've been hearty and full, if not for the weakness of his lungs. "My name is Nelyafinwë, uncle, and I expect you to call me by my name. I am not your King, I am your nephew, and you do not bow to me. Besides," He laughed again, though none of it was particularly funny, "I am not in good health. Finno feeds me with a spoon, like a child!"

He looked mildly confused for a long moment. His dark eyes flitted between his son and his nephew.

"...You are my King," He said. He didn't quite understand why he was acting so... Jovial. All he'd heard was that he was going to be delusional and insane and quiet.

"Sit down!" Maitimo looked around to the nurses, who'd ignored him for the most part. His smile and good attitude was unnerving. "Let's get some chairs! This is my family isn't it?"

Ñolofinwë had never heard any of his half-brother's sons say that. But he accepted the chair offered and crossed his leg awkwardly, waiting for something even stranger to happen. Findekáno began to feed Maitimo soup again.

"You know," Maitimo said thoughtfully between spoonfuls, "All I ate was table scraps for thirty years. I think this soup has to be the best thing I've ever eaten." A bit more silence as he ate, and then waved away Findekáno. "Enough of me. What're your names?"

All four of the visitors froze in place. He'd just called them family and he didn't even know their names?

"Nelyo, you know-" Findekáno started.

"No no, I don't know your names." He was still smiling as he said this, but it wavered as he continued. "You see, these illusions - where I thought I was these past days, these illusions were my Master's pride and joy. He was especially talented at it. And every time he wove these dreams into my waking world, the more I forgot. The closer I was with someone, the more I forgot..." The smile melted, but only for a few seconds. Soon enough it was back on, and he looked over each of their faces. His silvery eyes rested on Findekáno the longest. "He loved to create illusions about you. What is your name?"

Findekáno wanted to cry. But somehow he opened his mouth. "F-Findekáno. You know me, Nelyo, don't you know me?"

"Yes." He answered, letting the name mull over in his head. "Yes. You're my cousin." And his attention turned to his uncle, sitting now with his eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his face. "What's your name?"

A pause. A few nurses had left. "It's Ñolofinwë. Was..." He looked around to the scattered healers. "Was this the right time to visit? Are you well, my King?"

"Oh, she says I'm heavily drugged." He gestured with his left hand to Belegurel, who looked up from her papers and sighed. "But I don't feel a thing."

"Exactly." She grumbled and turned back to her work.

"What's your name?" He continued on his path. Turukáno hadn't been able to meet anyone's eyes since he walked in, and still didn't when he was asked his name.

"Turukáno." He said lowly.

"And you?" Maitimo finally looked to the lady on the end, who, opposite from her brother, had stared at Maitimo like no tomorrow.

"Irissë." Her voice was light and airy. "I was here last night, cousin. You thought I was an orc."

The other three flinched at her directness, but Maitimo meanwhile sat back and cocked his head thoughtfully. It took a minute for him to remember.

"Oh." He breathed. "I do remember that. It was the middle of the night. You threatened to hit me after I swore at you in Black Speech."

The general confusion in the tent became completely disarray of thought. Ñolofinwë shouted, "Irissë!" in scolding, and the White Lady herself started to speak to explain herself. Maitimo laughed, his usual, and Findekáno's face turned red with anger and embarrassment.

"What is Black Speech?" Turukáno spoke over the lot of them, and the noise quieted a bit.

"My Master's language," Maitimo answered. "You know, it is all I spoke for the entirety of my capture."

"Sister, why you did threaten to hit him?" Findekáno said over his cousin. He was enraged.

"His eyes were glowing! It was freaking me out," She grumbled.

Turukáno was still focused on Maitimo. "You never spoke Quenya at all?"

"Well..." He thought. "When eavesdropping on my Master and Morgoth, yes. But never spoke it. Only in my dreams."

"Wait," Now Ñolofinwë spoke up, raising a hand. "Morgoth wasn't your Master?"

"No!" Maitimo laughed. Laughed at the thought of Morgoth. "No. I only saw him on special occasions. Sauron was my Master. He was the clever one. He asked his Master to break me, in fact, you see?" He shifted to the right, showing the clear rope-like scar of an eye on his shoulder. "The seal of Sauron. I was his."

But now Findekáno was involved in Irissë's explanation. "Why were your eyes glowing?"

"Hm?"

"Why were your eyes glowing?" He echoed. "When Irissë came in here last night?"

Maitimo frowned at this and thought long and hard. Long enough, in fact, that the question itself became awkward and hung heavy in the air.

"My Master enjoyed anatomy." Was his answer. His start to his answer. The four of them looked up in surprise as he spoke. "He enjoyed studying the way muscles were put together, what happened when you were to cut this tendon and if it would affect another tendon. He mostly enjoyed pouring his magic into something, or someone, and merely seeing what would happen. Most of the time they were killed from the sheer power of it." His left hand drifted to his face, mindlessly skimming around his eyes and looking down. "I didn't die, though."

"He-" It was Ñolofinwë who spoke, his voice loud compared to his nephew's. Maitimo looked up, startled, like he didn't know he was there. "He experimented on you?"

Findekáno's stomach dropped and Maitimo smiled. Smiled. Why was he smiling? "Yes. Backfired on him though, because in my condition I was forced to control it. Well, mostly control it." He eyes glowed silver and that smile didn't wane.

"Is that how..." Findekáno looked to Belegurel and realized she was thinking the same thing. "Is that how you made Belegurel faint just by staring at her?"

"I did that?" His head shot to look at the healer, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. He looked her over and shook his head. "I don't remember it happening, but... It's possible."

At that moment Thî popped his head into the tent and ended any conversation happening or about to happen. "My Lord Turukáno, your daughter is here to see you. And Lord Findekáno, you have been called upon."

The two of them stood and went to the door. Turukáno left without a word, but Findekáno paused at the door and looked back to Maitimo. The redhead looked confused as he stared.

"I'll be back." And then he was gone, and Maitimo was left staring at the flap of the tent as if his life depended on it.

"Uh-" Ñolofinwë cleared his throat. Maitimo didn't move his silvery eyes. "I should be going, nephew. Rest well."

The remaining two stood, heading for the door. Without moving, the King grumbled.

"No."

"Hm?" Ñolofinwë turned back, Irissë pausing in front with the flap of the tent in her hand. Sunlight streamed in like fingers trying to pull them out. For a few long seconds no one spoke, and the uncle turned his body to face his King.

"I'd like to speak with you."

Maitimo's voice was too regal. No, it was too much like how his voice used to be. Ñolofinwë sent his daughter away and sat in the wicker chair, legs crossed and confusion set in his face.

"What is it?" He asked, tone low and careful. Maitimo was all of a sudden very familiar, serious and business-like. He remembered him as a child, a teenager, going to his father's meetings with lords and ladies and being completely ready for discussion.

Silver eyes rounded on Ñolofinwë like a wolf spotting prey. He shifted in his seat. "Alone." And those wolf's eyes circled the room, and without a word all the nurses left. Belegurel sent a confused look and disappeared.

"What is it you want to discuss?" His uncle said, cocking his head to the side.

"Uncle, I have come to a decision." He started, his one hand folding over his stomach. "Now, none of my brothers will like this decision. They might disown me for it, in fact. But I know it to be the right thing, and I have decided anyhow."

"My King, what-" Ñolofinwë began, his eyebrows narrowed in suspicion.

"No. None of that. I told you, call me Nelyafinwë." But his voice was so serious that the other flinched back in his wicker chair. "Let me explain myself. This will take a lot of explaining."

"Tell me what this decision is," Ñolofinwë clasped his hands together tightly, his nephew's nature scaring him somewhat.

"Not yet." He took a deep breath and closed those unnerving eyes for a moment. When they opened, there seemed to be no confusion or insanity within them. He was sober and solemn in his place in the bed. "In my time in captivity, I had much time to think. Left alone for days, not spoken to or chained the Post long after a whipping..." He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Long have I looked upon those jewels of my father, for they were always in my mind or in front of my eyes. Morgoth liked to offer his crown to me, tempt me even though there is no escape from the iron shackles of Angband. And those jewels, those goddamn jewels made me realize something."

Ñolofinwë sat up and tried to meet his eyes. What could he possibly be saying? What was he meaning?

"...Realize what?" He whispered finally.

"We are doomed." Maitimo choked. He coughed into his hand. Ñolofinwë looked for some bit of instability in those eyes, some evidence that he was not himself. But he had never been more of himself in those moments.

"We are doomed." He repeated. "Me, Makalaurë and Tyelkormo and all the rest of my brothers. Our line is doomed to the fate of the Oath. It controls us, it carries us when nothing else will. I should've died in Angband, I should've died so many times. I was once unconscious for two months from a head injury dealt to me. But I woke. And I shouldn't have woken. I survived for four months out on that cliff, four months with hardly any sustenance." His left hand was shaking. "We are cursed to stay in this place for however long it takes to get those gems."

Silence filled the air for too long. Ñolofinwë leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. The wicker chair creaked under his weight and Maitimo did not flinch like he thought he would. "What are you saying, Nelyafinwë?"

"You and your people are strong." He continued on like he hadn't even heard his uncle. "You crossed the Ice when my father left you behind, when we all left you to die. You survived and you thrived and you managed to not get any of your leaders caught by Morgoth." At the last bit he smiled in good humor, and Ñolofinwë realized that his nephew whole-heartedly meant ever word he said. "My father came to colonize this place and be rid from the oppression of Válinorë. We have not done that. We have gotten ourselves killed, captured, and altogether unorganized. But your people, you came to be free as well and you have succeed thus far. That is true strength, and my father would be proud."

"Nephew, what are you saying?" Ñolofinwë sat back and tried to suppress the pressure in his throat.

"You are your people are not bound to the Oath like I am." He took a long deep breath and looked over at his blunt wrist. "You and your people are not maimed and broken as I am." His hand drifted to the bruise on his cheek. "Your people are united where mine are not." Maitimo's head rose back to his uncle's face, and as he sat up he groaned in pain. Ñolofinwë went to help him, but Maitimo raised a hand to stop him.

"As soon as my brothers get back from their hunt," He said, "I am calling a council right here in this room. Until then you are to speak with no one about this conversation. Should they ask, tell them to see me. I trust you to not tell anyone."

"You didn't know my name ten minutes ago." Ñolofinwë pointed out.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone."

Ñolofinwë looked at his lap and sighed. His body felt sore from the tenseness in his muscles, but nonetheless he raised his hand to shake on it. When the both of them realized Maitimo's hand was not exactly in the shape for shaking, the two of them managed to laugh and shook left hand to left hand.

"Thank you. You are excused." Maitimo chuckled, sitting back with a smile. A smile was unnerving on those scarred lips, Ñolofinwë thought, and stood.

"You are not drugged, are you?" He said, a smile dragging onto his face as well.

"Painkillers have been useless to me for twenty-five years." He looked to the table with all of Belegurel's things. "My blood has become used to them."

Ñolofinwë let out a final huff and lifted the flap. It was nearly dark out. "Until next time, nephew."

"Goodbye."

Leaving that tent, Ñolofinwë thought his half-brother's family wasn't so bad.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chap is a long boi im sorry

By the time Tyelko and Amras returned, three days had passed.

Maitimo slept constantly, saying he needed to rest up in order to heal. Belegurel found it both fantastic and suspicious. The brothers did not complain if Maitimo was willing to heal.

"Where is he?" Tyelko shouted as he leapt off his horse, sliding a hand through his hair and grabbing his water skein before marching off. Amras trailed behind him, his bow and arrows still slung on his back.

"Who?" The younger replied, running ahead to catch up. "Maitimo? It's the big tent over there, away from everyone."

"Good. Let's go visit."

The two of them practically ran to his tent, eager and nervous and a bit annoyed at having to visit their dear older brother. Tyelko was upset at having his hunt cut short, and Amras was terrified at having to face him.

"Brother!" Tyelko shouted, pulling the flap of the tent aside and storming in.

Maitimo was dead asleep in the bed. Some color had returned to his cheeks, though all his features were still sunken and dark. He muttered Black Speech curses and tossed and turned. The bruise still flowered beautifully on his cheek. Nurses scattered about the tent, thought they didn't seem to be doing much. Belegurel shot to her feet upon seeing Tyelkormo.

"My Prince," She greeted, bowing her head and moving to Maitimo's side as he did. Amras followed in his shadow. "I would refrain from waking him, sir. He wakes violently."

"I don't care," Tyelko hissed, moving a hand to touch his shoulder. "He's called upon me urgently, and I am answering his call. I will not wait any longer." Warm fingers touched his bony shoulder, gripped it, and leaned over to shake him.

Maitimo's eyes opened before he was truly awake. The silver flashed like two lanterns and a gush of wind shook the tent from its stakes. Tyelko stumbled back under the pressure and the nurses protected their heads in their arms, vials knocking over and open liquids spilling. Maitimo grabbed Tyelko's hand in a steel grip and began to chant lowly.

"M-Maitimo!" The blond shouted, ripping his hand away and looking around the tent. Everything was askew from the wind. "Maitimo, it's me. It's Tyelko."

The silver slowly faded from his eyes and the familiarity struggled to return. "Tyel-Tyelko?" A tiny voice squeaked. "Is it you?"

"Yes, yes it's me. And Amras. We're here. Why have you called us?"

Maitimo blinked furiously and looked around the tent. His left hand wandered to his head, and desperately he tried to sit up. When Belegurel realized he was trying to get to his feet again she ran around the bed and stood in front of him, hands raised to stop him from moving but not touching.

"Sir," She breathed. "Sir, you're here. With your family. Hey," She slid her hand into his to get his attention, and finally, grey eyes saw her and the two brothers behind her.

"Tyelko." He breathed, and Belegurel knew he was back and stepped away. "Tyelko. Amras. It- it's you."

"Yes." Amras agreed, stepping forward and smiling as best he could. "Yes, it's us. Why have you called us here?"

At that Maitimo sat back and closed his eyes. He was thinking, trying to scrape together enough memories as to remember why he called them here. The past few days flew by in his head, sleeping, and eating and being prodded by a thousand nurses. A different face appeared in his mind then, and he knew it was his uncle.

"Nelyafinwë?" A voice called from the tent flap, deep and throaty and Maitimo opened his eyes. A dark shape moved behind the tent. "You told me to come when your brothers returned."

"Oh!" Maitimo sat up, a smile rising on his face as he remembered it all. "Oh, yes. Come in then, uncle. Thî, dear?"

The flap was pushed aside and in walked Ñolofinwë, a suppressed curiosity on his face. Thî popped his head in. "Yes, my King?"

"Go fetch the rest of my brothers. And my cousins. I am calling a council for right now."

The soldier nodded and he dashed away. For a moment the lot of them stood in an awkward silence, Maitimo steeling himself up to talk business, and his brothers staring at him in confusion.

"Sit." Maitimo said quite suddenly. Amras and Tyelko jumped in surprise and looked around for somewhere to sit. Tyelko sat in the wicker chair, and the rest grabbed wooden chairs scattered about the room. The stillness of awkward silence ensued, but fortunately not for long. Thî knocked on the stake outside and paused.

"Yes?" Maitimo answered. Had he been healthy, he would've sounded like a real King, but his voice was small and airy from the torment on his lungs.

"I have gathered them all."

"Good. Send them in."

Belegurel stepped in close to the bed, resting a hand on the pillow beside Maitimo to get his attention. "Sir, are you sure they will all fit?"

Maitimo shrugged and managed a smile. "I don't know. Better to have a full room of family than an empty one."

One by one they filed in, all looking mildly confused to why they were there. Some sat in remaining chairs, but Turukáno and Irissë and Curvo had to stand in the back. Findekáno had tried to be close to Maitimo, missing that familiar face, but had ended up somewhere in the middle next to Makalaurë.

"Nelyo?" The minstrel called, crossing his legs. "Why've we all been called here?"

Not for a second did Maitimo look anything like he had when his brothers had past visited. Instead, he held the regal expression that Ñolofinwë had seen a few days ago, hardening his grey eyes and settling his left hand over his stomach.

"I have made a decision." He started, the same way he had before. "This decision is something essentially all of you will hate me for. First of all," He moved on quickly to avoid questions, looking to Tyelko and Amras individually. "I'd like to thank the two of you for finally visiting me in my sickbed, though I will not shout at you for not doing so earlier even though it grieves me. And Curvo," Quickly grey eyes flicked to the one by the tent flap whilst the last two brothers flushed red in embarrassment. "I'd like to apologize for insulting you. It was uncalled for and frankly quite rude. I have not seen you for many years and I based my first assumptions on your first few moments in reunion."

The three of them opened their mouths to respond, to apologize, but Maitimo raised a hand for silence and continued on.

"I need to explain this decision before I tell you what it is." He said, taking a deep breath. "For thirty years I have seen suffering and torture as if it is the norm, and for long I have had time to think and consider every one of my mistakes up to that point. I had been naive, we all had, and too optimistic and we have had no idea what we were up against. I have seen what we are up against, and I know now that we cannot waste time with reunions and celebrations. Which is why I have decided," He took a long deep breath, a long pause and closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke he stared each one of them in the eye.

"Which is why I am handing over the crown of my father to Ñolofinwë."

A long silence settled like dust over a battlefield. For a long while, they all just stood or sat in shock, not able to speak for all the emotions going through their brains.

"Is this a joke?" Tyelko managed, his voice unusually quiet.

"No." Maitimo met his gaze. "It is not a joke, nor do I want you to take it as a joke. I have made my decision and it is final."

"Nelyo, you can't do this." Makalaurë choked out. "Hand over the crown? That would be like saying you revoke everything our father has done!"

"It's a mistake," Amras added.

"It is no mistake." Maitimo continued.

"He's insane," Tyelko scoffed, sitting back in his chair. "He's insane! That's it. His mind has gone awry in his thirty years."

"It's an insult to father's legacy!" Curvo shouted by the flap. "You disgrace our grandfather's line!"

"I am saving grandfather's line." Maitimo kept his voice even. "Our father's legacy was stained at the Aqualondë. Do none of you remember? Do none of you remember the torment he caused upon those people?"

"Do you not remember all he has done that has benefited our people?" Curvo scowled furiously. "He has-!"

"This is not about us!" Maitimo cut off. "This is not about us or our dear father or our grandfather or his legacy! We are in war, brothers, and if we do not take it seriously we will be left to a fate no better than father's!" He spoke on before anyone else could rouse up, pointing to Ñolofinwë with his left hand, who'd sat completely still in shock. "Our uncle has been courageous and brave and he has done so without killing hundreds of people! He crossed the Ice when our father left him behind to die, he survived the trek and he has successfully built up his people's colonies in this place. He is more fit for this crown than myself or any of you."

At that the five brothers began to yell louder than ever, pointing fingers and screaming insult upon insult, getting more personal and disgusting by the second. Ñolofinwë watched it all with furrowed eyebrows and a gaping mouth.

"I wish you had never been returned from that place!"

It was Tyelko who struck the final blow that sent the tent into silent eruption. His face was bright red from all the yelling, his eyes crazed and his hair mussed. He did not even realize what he had said until a long moment after, into the tense silence of the tent.

Maitimo's eyes glowed more brightly than ever before. Tyelko shifted to say something to make up for it, but a smile crawled onto Maitimo's face.

"Would you like to hear a story?" He asked, his voice clear and smooth and entrancing. No one answered. "Good. I wish I hadn't returned to this either."

"Nel-" Findekáno murmured, trying to get to him before he snapped.

"The first night I spent in Angband was alone." He started, rolling on with the story. "Yes, alone. I trembled in the corner of a cell for hours. I don't know when it became morning. You can never tell when it's morning in that place. But it was morning eventually, and I was dragged out of my cell and thrown to the ground and stripped naked. They attached a collar to my neck and dragged me down all of their long, dark halls like a cow abut to be slaughtered, and we stopped at a massive set of metal doors. The craftsmanship was incredible, clearly something that my Master had made. Those doors were thicker than my head."

Again Findekáno raised a hand just a bit to speak, but quickly he was cut off.

"I told dear Káno about this part, at least a little bit. I was brought into the throne room, filled with all the captains and lords and ladies under Morgoth, and I was chained to the Post. The Post is this big, wooden stake embedded with sharp metals and always stained red with blood. Then the audience took votes on what my role was to be. Whether I was to be a worker, a miner or to be twisted into an orc, tortured until I died or just a classic slave. Most wanted me to be tortured until death. But the overriding vote of both my Master and Morgoth was to become a whore. They branded Morgoth's seal into my chest, along with the job description, and Master insisted on giving me his insignia too. He liked me from the beginning."

He paused for a moment. At this point, no one dared to interrupt.

"Right after the ceremonial branding there's a game they like to play. My Master was an expert on manipulation, you see, and so he brought out some letters for me to see. You probably know what these letters were, don't you Tyelko?" Maitimo turned his head to look his brother in the eye. Tyelko shrunk back and nodded. "Yes. They were the last words I would hear from my brothers for thirty years. I've quite forgotten what they said, but Master read them aloud to everyone in the room and then he burnt them in his hand. These were nice touches. I was sobbing by now, and Master took great pleasure in releasing me from the Post and handing me a sword. No one explained to me why. They just gave me a sword and parted a large area, where one of my own captains stood. His name was Nodrion."

Makalaurë was the only one who knew this story and looked at his lap with embarrassment.

"We fought to the death." Maitimo was still smiling eerily to the rest of them. "He disarmed me because I was crying and couldn't see through all the tears. I thought I was going to die." He huffed a laugh and looked at his lap. "So they stopped the fight, because they couldn't lose such a precious slave, and chained Nodrion from the ceiling by his feet. I mashed him with my sword until they were pleased, and then the rest of him was fed to the dogs."

No one knew what to say. Everyone wanted to speak, to ask him why he'd explained this story or that he didn't need to continue. But Maitimo did continue on without letting anyone interrupt.

"They sent me back to my cell and didn't return for two days." He thought. "No food, no water. Chained to the wall and burn wounds left untreated. But you know what? I still craved my family. I still held some hope that some day one of you would rescue me. Over time I learned how wrong I was. Each day the hope lessened until there was none left, and I did not know why I still lived. You say I was insane for thinking I was still there the first days I was awake? Ask yourself, truly, if you would not be in the same place I was. I had no purpose but to serve my Master, and that was it. Your life loses meaning when living in captivity like an animal." He smiled slightly, a dead gesture that did not reach his eyes. "It was the end. It was the end."

"But-" Finally it was Fingon who spoke up, capturing the attention of the rest of the room. "I rescued you, Nelyo. It was not your end."

He laughed, coughed, and looked down. "Yes. Because you created another beginning for me." He looked up at each of his brothers. "Do not let this be our end, do not let this be my end again. I am handing to crown over the Ñolofinwë, and that will be the end of it. Maybe over time you will learn to trust me again."

"We trust you, brother," Makalaurë whispered.

"Yes." He scoffed. "I am sure you do. Now get out, I'm tired."

They all rose to their feet at once. They were anxious to leave and streamed out of the tent in a crowd. Only Tyelko and Ñolofinwë and Findekáno stayed behind.

"I'm sorry," Tyelko said. "I really am. I was angry. I could not be more happy that you are back."

Maitimo looked up at him wearily and grasped his hand. "I do not blame you for saying it. I forgive you and love you and I have missed you."

Tyelko smiled and sent a gentle squeeze to his hand before leaving.

"Nelyafinwë," Ñolofinwë stepped forward. "Are... Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Maitimo groaned. "I did not give that speech and story for nothing. Take the crown, uncle. I do not want it, nor do I need or deserve it. Now get out of here, I don't want you pestering me more about it."

The uncle turned and stepped past Findekáno, who murmured, "Should I leave too?"

"No." Maitimo breathed heavily in exhaustion but raised his hand towards his cousin. Ñolofinwë glanced back at them once with a smile before leaving. "Lay with me. I want to hold you again."

Findekáno stepped forward and allowed him to hold his hand. "Are you sure? I thought you didn't like touching."

"My nightmare is over." He moved over in the bed and cringed only a little bit. "I have missed you probably most of all. Lay down, please. I want to feel you against me and smell your hair. Please."

His cousin laughed and got into the bed next to him, sliding an arm carefully behind his neck and cuddling closer. He couldn't deny his ecstasy at being next to his greatest friend again after having lost him for so long. He was so warm. So real against his skin.

"You smell like peonies," Maitimo whispered into his neck. There was a smile on his lips, Findekáno could tell. "You used to smell like daisies."

"You know me by smell?"

"Your hair." He clarified. "I was always so jealous of it..." He fondled one of the thick braids in his scrawny hand, breathing laughs and almost falling into a coughing fit again. "I'm so happy, Finno. I don't think I've ever been this happy in my entire life."

"Oh, don't say that." He looked down at the form curled into his. His right arm still rested carefully next to him, but the smile on his face beamed like he didn't even notice.

"I'm serious. I really have missed you, Finno. You're my best friend and I love you." He rested his head on his chest and breathed more evenly. "I just want to stay like this forever. Forever and ever and never move."

Findekáno placed a kiss on his scruffy hair and leaned against him only a little as to not harm him. "I missed you, you sentimental goof. You should sleep, that is why you kicked everyone out, isn't it? I'll get you something to eat when you wake. Deal?"

Maitimo paused. "...Deal." He was falling asleep already, and in a matter of seconds he was out, serene and still against Findekáno's chest. His one hand wove through a forest of braids and clutched the fabric of his cousin's shirt, soft and supple. Findekáno threaded his fingers through his short hair as he spoke, missing the long auburn locks he'd remembered. He'd loved spending summer days braiding each other's hair, though Findekáno was always much better at it and he never really wanted or needed Maitimo messing up his beautiful hair.

He had almost begun to fall asleep himself when his cousin beneath him started to twitch. It was barely noticeable at first, maybe just a reflex, but slowly got less subtle. He moaned and shook his head, scrunching his eyes up and gripping Findekáno's shirt harder.

"Nelyo," He murmured above him, trying to shake him awake from the nightmares. This time it didn't work.

"...Please," Maitimo whispered in his sleep, trembling and twitching terribly. "Please... Master, no..."

"Nelyo," He called, louder.

The volume of his voice raised. "No...! I told you already, please! NO!" He screamed, thrashing now and breathing erratically. Findekáno's heart beat faster than ever, and he shouted his name right by his ear.

All of a sudden he went stiff, arms straightening and freezing, breath stopping too. Then it all fell back down, and he struggled to breathe and shook in his cousin's arms. And again he stiffened, and relaxed, and stiffened once more.

"NELYO!" Findekáno yelled over him, trying not to jostle him much but needing him to wake. And finally, grey eyes shot opened and he gasped a breath of air, his hold loosening on Findekáno's shirt but his trembling not ending.

"Finno?" He mewled, moving to look up at his face. "Finno, oh Finno. I'm sorry. Did I- did I hurt you?"

"No, Nelyo, not at all, you didn't hurt me." He whispered back, a hand cupping his cheek. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Maitimo collapsed back to his chest. "I'm so tired, Finno, I'm so tired. The dreams, they won't stop and I'm so tired but I can't sleep."

"Honey..." Findekáno cooed, pressing a kiss to his head and his heart breaking. "Nelyo, it's okay. You're here, I have you."

"I know, I know, but I can't escape the nightmares. I can't. I'm so tired. So tired."

Findekáno wanted to gather him up in his arms and hug him until it got better. But he knew that wasn't realistic, and that it wouldn't happen anything like that. "I can see of Belegurel has any drugs that can help you sleep, any-"

"They all have no effect on me." He breathed. "All of them. My Master accustomed my body to all types of painkillers and sleeping drugs and anything that might help me. There's nothing you can do, I just..." He took a long deep breath. "I just have to try again."

"We can't have you going on like this. In perpetual nightmare." Findekáno protested. "There must be something I can do."

"There is." Maitimo leaned into his body and reveled in the warmth. "You can hold me."

The two of them stayed like that then, Findekáno wanting to find Belegurel or anyone that could actually help him, but deciding to stay to comply with his wishes. Besides, he couldn't exactly complain about getting to hold Maitimo again. Despite the malnutrition and the scars carved into him, he was still beautiful and Findekáno wanted to stare at him for hours.

\- - - - -

This dream had to be, out of all of them, one of the worst.

He sat curled up in the corner of his cell, unbound for once but in the presence of the one who caused him the most pain. His Master strolled the room with his favorite tool, a sort of shock device that was usually used as a collar for dogs. But who was correcting him? Maitimo was a dog.

"Up." The Master called, patting his thigh with the demand. Maitimo struggled to his feet and stood straight while the collar was clipped around his neck. Little prongs stuck out into the vulnerable flesh of his throat. "Good boy."

Maitimo looked down, away from all eyes and faces. Master did not like it when he looked him in the eye.

"Will you tell me now where your brothers are?" He smiled sweetly, standing back and admiring the blood dripping from one of his victim's fingers. "Maitimo, my sweet boy, it doesn't have to be this way. I tell you what I want to know, and you give me the answer. Simple! There is no game to play here."

But Maitimo was shaking his head, his knees trembling. "I- I don't know."

"Come now. I will not ask again."

"I really- really don't know." His breathing caught every time something made a move, expecting pain. But he didn't know, and he had no way of knowing.

The Master tsked. "Too bad."

The collar rung out with a shock of electricity, and Maitimo screamed out as it shook him. His legs stiffened underneath him and he collapsed to the stone floor, twitching and screaming under the pain. And then it was over, and he was shaking on the floor.

"Now," That honeyed voice reached his ears like nails on a chalkboard. "I will only increase the shocks. Is it painful, pet?"

"Yes Master."

"It doesn't have to be painful, Maitimo. You know that. Where have your brothers taken camp?"

"I have-haven't seem them in years." Was his answer, shaky and stuttered out of his mouth. He moaned lowly and laid back.

"That isn't good enough." A sleek hand petted his head lovingly. "It just isn't."

Another shock, a more powerful shock, took his body in a steel grip. He screamed further and arched his back, fingers reaching for anything to hold onto but meeting nothing but stale air. And then it was over again. The aftermath of it left him sobbing in pain, wishing and pleading for death. So this dream was from the last few years. The last few years were the worst years.

Slim fingers gripped his chin and pushed his face up. He was met with a warm face, golden skin and glowing silver eyes, wild red hair and a smile on his lips. He and Maitimo shared a lot of features, but they did not look alike.

"Maitimo," His sweet voice cooed to him like a safe house. He crouched beside him and slid a hand through his hair. The other cupped his cheek. "Oh, Maitimo. You are beautiful. You are. Look at this jaw, all of these freckles..." Careful fingers swept over his face. "How nice would it be to get you cleaned up, have a dinner to reward your good behavior? Bathe, wash your beautiful hair, scrub some of this blood off of you..."

Maitimo was shaking his head and silently weeping. He didn't want dinner. He didn't want a bath or rewards. He only wanted it to be over. "P-please, Master, please, I... I... I truly don't know, I don't-don't know where they are. I'm sorry. Please. P-please. Be merciful."

The Master clicked his tongue again. "Maitimo, you know the consequence of withholding information."

Maitimo reached up and clutched his Master's silky robes, begging and pleading and becoming a messy, snotty pile of tears. "P-please, Master, I'll do anything- anything..."

"Anything?" The Master smiled widely, showing pointed canines. "Do not offer if you do not mean it."

He meant it. He did. At that point, he didn't care what could be done to him. Even as he complied with his Master's wishes, stripping down and kneeling in front of him, he felt nothing. No shame, no loss of dignity. There were not even tears. He simply opened his mouth, obeyed, and prayed for death.

When the act was finished and Maitimo had swallowed, the Master waited a few moments before speaking.

"This is no fun." He crossed his arms. "No fun at all. You didn't even try to act! Now now, pet, that could deserve a worse punishment."

Without any warning, the shocks wrung his body. He collapsed back, screaming with all of himself, the pain of his torture unmasked. He no longer tried to hold anything back. There was no point. When the shock had ended, he felt himself convulsing on his side, gagging on nothing but stomach acid. He sobbed openly and gripped his hair, sobs rising into wails and wails rising into tearing screams of nothing but pure torment.

With some unknown bit of energy, Maitimo sat up and gripped the ends of his Master's robes. "Do- it again-" He choked. "More- p-please, more- please-"

Another shock. This one felt weaker, but it still fulfilled his need to cry out and feed the fire within him.

"MORE-!" He cackled, his voice shattering into animalistic growls. More electricity, and he began to screech in delight. Cries turned to laughter. "MORE, MORE!" He rose to his feet and used his Master's robes as a ladder, pulling himself up until he stood almost as tall as the Master. "Ah- AH!" He bellowed and held Master's shoulders with hands like claws. Silver eyes glowed reflections into silver eyes. "YES!" He moved his face in close to his Master's and cackled with delight. Something unreadable was behind his Master's expression.

"Get off of me, whore." The Master finally shoved him away, pressing the control for more electricity. This shock was the most powerful of all, and as the most powerful Maitimo screamed with ecstacy.

"You cannot control me-!" He gasped, grasping the Master's shoulders with rigor and leaning in closer. He was drooling and trembling continually now, the shocks blending into his pain. "I love it- I-" He smiled, a crazed, wild smile, and moved his hands around his Master's neck. "You can't stop it-! I- I love the pain!"

The Master stared with fear for a moment before kneeing his subject in the stomach and backhanding him across the face. Maitimo staggered back, disoriented. But he couldn't stop there, even though his Master continued. "I failed." He studied the silver of Maitimo's eyes. "I failed."

Maitimo charged him. The Master shocked him at the same time, and that was a mistake. Maitimo tackled him to the stone floor, biting his neck and sinking the collar around his throat into his torturer's skin. They both cried out, Maitimo with utter joy, and the Master with overwhelming hatred.

The dream ended as the door flew open.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mentions of rape and descriptions of violence, you know how it goes

"-Elyo!" Findekáno was lightly shaking him again.

Maitimo shot up in the bed. He was breathing heavy and he had bit his lip open in his sleep. "Fin... Finde?" He gazed around, catching Findekáno by his side. "Oh, Fin. Are you alright? What happened?"

"Am I alright?" Fin huffed. "You were screaming again. What happened to you?"

Maitimo shifted his weight. He no longer felt much of the pain. Besides, he was used to it. He could handle it. "I- I dreamt of the same thing again. Of my Master."

Fin was pale suddenly, aghast and fearful. "Oh?"

"Yes." Maitimo confirmed. "With my Master. But it wasn't a terrible time. He was looking for information and shocking me."

"Shocking you?"

"Oh, yes. He loved that damned collar. But it wasn't terrible because-" He chewed his lip and thought over the last part of the dream. "Because I overcame it. And I tackled Master."

"Tackled him?" Finde raised his eyebrows and looked thoroughly confused and amazed. "What are you going on about, Nelyo?"

"I tackled him, that's what. I overcame the pain." He looked back at Findekáno and forgot entirely what he was going to say. Those deep brown eyes were positively shimmering in the dim light, and his hair glittered gloriously. "Huh." He breathed, bringing his remaining hand to his cheek. "You are beautiful."

Fin giggled and the arm around Maitimo squeezed gently. "You're staring, Nelyo."

He huffed and didn't look away. "I suppose I am."

The two of them sat there for a moment, simply enjoying the other's company like they hadn't been able for decades. Maitimo snuggled into his cousins side, who curled his arm around him protectively.

The next few days went exactly like that - Maitimo needing to be with Findekáno constantly, being sweet and happy and smiling at mostly everyone that visited him. His brothers avoided him still. They hated his decision. That was no surprise. And Maitimo found himself trying to build up strength, to comply with all the braces and slings that Belegurel insisted would heal him. He did heal, little by little. He was able to sit up without help, and the nurses gave him larger meals. He was hungrier and gaining back his appetite. Findekáno was glad. He remembered how much Maitimo used to eat back in Valinor and his love for sweets.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. That was worrying for everyone. Especially Findekáno, who'd been getting a little more into his old schedule. He checked on Maitimo less during the night. He never needed it as much as he used to.

About a week and a half later, he'd made so much progress in realigning his spine that Belegurel said he could finally go outside within the next few days. Maitimo was ecstatic. His brothers weren't even aware of his condition, having left for their own camps or too busy around this one to care. They were angry with him. Findekáno, on the other hand (no pun intended), was just as excited as Maitimo, if not more. He told Ñolofinwë and his own siblings, and his father agreed to come by when he was to walk. He didn't have any family at that moment, and besides; Maitimo deserved all the respect Ñolofinwë could give him for what he did.

It was beautiful and sunny a few days later, and that's when Belegurel succumbed to agree. There were many nurses there, though not as many as there used to be, and Findekáno and Ñolofinwë to support him.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Maitimo said, lifting himself up and moving towards the left side of the bed so they could hold him. His legs looked too bony and gangly. But they'd healed as well. Findekáno tried not to remember the atrocity before. "Come now. I cannot wait." And Findekáno and Ñolofinwë swept under his arms, holding his entire torso up carefully, as Belegurel had instructed. He was light enough that it wasn't hard at all.

"Careful-!" Belegurel hissed. She hadn't been this anxious since the day Maitimo arrived. All her hard work could be destroyed if they dropped him, or if he hurt himself or tripped or got freaked out. Belegurel was still very careful around him. She'd worked with survivors of Angband before, and she knew the horrors that could jolt into their minds suddenly and unexpectedly.

"We are being as careful as we can." Ñolofinwë said, taking little steps to bring Maitimo towards the flap of the tent. Maitimo was frowning in concentration, grunting as he struggled to move his feet. He barely held any of his own weight, but what he did hold felt heavier than he could've imagined. The sunlight streaming in through the flap of the tent spurred him on to get outside. A nurse held the flap aside, and Ñolofinwë and Findekáno went too slow to bring him out.

The sun! The sun was there. He hadn't see her yet, and gasped under her blinding light. His eyes flashed silver in the golden rays, and Findekáno saw his beauty lingering in a scarred body. The dirt under his toes felt too prickly and rough, but the warmth in the air made up for it. All the soldiers that passed slowed and then stopped to stare in shock. They hadn't known Nelyafinwë had healed so much, nor had they seen him at all since he arrived, and so their expressions made Maitimo laugh.

"They are staring." He said aloud, glancing towards his cousin.

"They are." Findekáno agreed. "You are their King- or you were, anyway. They've not seen you in thirty years."

Maitimo stood there for a long moment. He was smiling contagiously, spreading pieces of happiness through the forming crowd. His head ripped to look at the sun again, though just barely since she was so bright. The clouds were pure and white and fluffy. Then his expression turned steely and harsh, and Findekáno knew something was wrong.

"Nelyo?" He asked, leaning forward to study his face. His eyes didn't move from the sky. "Would you like to go back in the tent?"

He didn't answer. He was beginning to look too much like he had weeks before, when he was in a bad mood. The soldiers stuck by to see what he'd do, but looked much more uncomfortable. Maitimo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and a breeze slipped through his short hair. Findekáno wanted to tangle his fingers in it.

Another minute passed before Maitimo tipped his head down and slumped forward in his cousin and uncle's grip. They struggled to hold him up and prodded him to try and stand.

"Chair." He muttered lowly, his voice deep and tired. Belegurel grabbed a sturdy wooden chair from in the room and set it to the side. They gingerly maneuvered Maitimo to sit, and he grunted and leaned back when he touched the wood. He opened his eyes and stared around at the soldiers. They looked as if they expected him to say something, so he did.

"I don't have anything to show you," He called out. "You have work to attend to. Go."

They left quickly. His tone and expression was everything but friendly, and frankly, some of them were scared of him. The camp once again bustling with activity and haste, and Maitimo closed his eyes once again. Was he listening for something?

"I can hear the wind." He said. Apparently he was listening. "And the grass blowing in the wind." A smile didn't grow, like Findekáno wished it would. "It's mystical out here." But he said it with such sadness and concern that he might as well have said it's the end of the world.

"What's wrong, Nelyo?" Findekáno asked, trying to decode what was going on with him. "Are you alright?"

Maitimo opened his eyes and clenched his jaw. His right arm shifted against his chest in its sling. "Bring me back inside. Please." He looked to his cousin, and Findekáno saw that he was holding onto his sanity with a thread.

"Maybe you just need to get more fresh air. You've been stuffed in that tent forever." Ñolofinwë placed a hand on his shoulder and caused him to flinch. "You said it was long since you'd seen the sky? You need to stay out here. It'll be good for your health, I-"

"Father." Findekáno saw Maitimo's face and realized he would either snap and break down or stay silent and suffer. "We should bring him inside." And Findekáno sent his father a look, one that reminded Ñolofinwë so much of his wife that he decided to agree. They wound their hands around Maitimo's torso and lifted him from the chair.

"Careful!" Belegurel followed them back inside, yapping at them once again and watching their every move. Maitimo was having even more trouble walking, stumbling twice and breathing heavy with strain. When he was finally set in place in the bed again, he grabbed Ñolofinwë's hand to stop him and stared intensely.

"Nelyafinwë?" He stared back.

"Triple the guards tonight." Maitimo was still breathing heavy, and there was fear in his eyes. "Master comes to steal me back. A storm is coming."

Ñolofinwë glanced at his son and scowled. "How do you know this?"

"Listen to me!" He rasped. Findekáno realized this is why he was so off outside. "I feel him. Triple the guards. My brothers that have remained are to stay in their tents and lookouts should be posted around the area. Morgoth's servants are the shadows that creep in the night. Finde will stay in his tent tonight, like my brothers. Ensure they are all armed."

"This is a very specific request, Nelyafinwë." He narrowed his eyes. "I can double the guards and arm Carnistir, all who remains, but I cannot ensure that he stays in his tent. That is the best I can do."

Maitimo let go of his wrist and sat back with a huff. He shut his eyes. "Thank you. Now go. I wish to be alone."

They complied. Belegurel checked his shoulder and arm quickly and left, following the nurses and Ñolofinwë and Findekáno. It was quiet. But it only stayed like that for a few hours, and soon enough the camp was bustling with haste to prepare for the night. The guard was almost doubled, but that didn't help Maitimo's nerves. He sat awake, sitting upright in bed and watching the room more alert than a prowling cat. Moryo armed himself well and sat in waiting, seething and ready to take his frustration with his brother out on whatever threatened him. Findekáno paced his own tent with a knife in hand, more worried than frustrated and thought over all the possibilities of what could happen. The soldiers anxiously awaited a threat they did not know would even come.

Day turned to night. And in the night there are shadows.

Storm clouds swept overhead, booming with power and bringing with it thunder and rain. The first shadows took the life of a guard out at the front gates, and from there everyone was alerted. Maitimo heard the commotion from his bed and did not move. He could hear his Master whispering in his ear and fingernails skimming across his cheeks.

The shadows were orcs, and they tore apart the camp with a brutal ferocity. Darkness crept in like ink to cotton. Ñolofinwë wondered how he'd missed this small force and swore he'd set out more scouts, or just bring Maitimo outside everyday to sense a threat. How could he have known?

Thî was guarding the tent, but with the sudden flux of orcs he had his sword drawn and crouched to lookout. One orc approached him first, a large creature with a breastplate of bones. Thî slashed towards him, bidding him to fight, and he grinned wide with sharpened wolves teeth. The orc drew a blade like a meat cleaver and deflected his slash. A second orc appeared, then a third, and Thî became even more anxious. He could fight two at the same time, but the third got a nick in his side and hobbled into the tent. Thî screamed with frustration and fear and fought hard.

"'Ello, Maitimo." The orc smiled horribly and stalked to the bed. "The Master misses ya terribly."

Maitimo said nothing and watched him. He gripped a curved sword. Good. The orc laughed, a throaty gurgle, and raised his sword.

In an instant, Maitimo lurched forward and knocked the sword out of his thick hands and across the room, using this surprise to dig his nails into the orc's wrist and bring him down, falling out of the bed and landing on top of him.

"Ya- whore!" The orc spat, and Maitimo smiled a creepy, shadowy smile.

"Not anymore." He hissed, and lurched forward again to sink his teeth into the orc's neck like a lion. The orc screamed and spat and tore at Maitimo, pounding on him with heavy fists and scratching at him with muddy fingernails.

Thî finished off the second orc with a stab to the middle and stumbled back, panting. He turned quickly and threw the flap to the tent aside, running in to scrabble a rescue. He thought he'd come upon an orc cleaving a sword into Maitimo's head, but what he found was the orc sprawled and struggling on the ground with Maitimo tearing out his throat. Blood was everywhere. The orc died with a gurgle and Maitimo crouched over his body, a wolf over its prey.

"M-my Prince," Thî stuttered, almost wishing he hadn't spoken when Maitimo lifted his head and let chunks of severed flesh fall out of his mouth. He was so weak. He shouldn't have been able to win. "You- you- you killed him. How-?"

The flap of the tent was pulled aside again, and Thî jolted to fight again. It was Findekáno, looking terrified and horribly worried. When he looked over the scene in front of him he scowled and glanced at the guard beside him. "Nelyo?" He turned back to his cousin and approached him carefully. "Are you- okay?"

Maitimo lifted his upper body off the orc and held onto the edge of the bed to lift himself back onto it. Suddenly he looked tired and weak again. "Fine." He grumbled. "I'm fine. Just some scratches and bruises. Are the rest of them dead?"

"Yes- yes, just about." Still spooked, Findekáno glanced towards the flap and sighed heavily. "My father is right behind me. If he sees you-"

"Sees me?" Maitimo laughed darkly. "Finde, you know what you just saw. I tore out his throat. He was going to kill me. If you think that what I just did was too savage, I remind you that these things did atrocities to me. You father has no right to be angry with me."

"I don't think he would be angry." Findekáno said, and Maitimo knew it was the truth. "I think- I don't know." He looked over his cousin, blood and viscera splattered all over his face and dripping down his neck. It gave him chills.

Sure enough, Ñolofinwë entered behind Findekáno and saw exactly what had happened. "Dear Eru." He breathed. He wasn't angry. He was disgusted. He walked to the side of the bed, stepping over the corpse, and placed his hands over Maitimo's shoulders. "You need to come with me."

Maitimo clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "Where?"

"The soldiers." He explained, gesturing for Findekáno to get his other side. "They captured one orc. We need you to translate." Maitimo nodded his agreement, and they lifted him. He found it wasn't so hard to walk now. He had a reason and a place to be.

Outside, the moon revealed the blood that had been shed. Bodies dotted the muddy camp, and through the rain they stepped, through blood and mud and flesh. A crowd of soldiers surrounded a bound orc on the west side of the camp. They parted to let Maitimo and his cousin and uncle through, staring in silence at his blood stained lips.

In the center was the bound orc, struggling and shaking and hissing threats at the soldiers. Maitimo smiled as he approached. Finally! How long had he waited for this day? For a time that he held the whip?

"Slave." He called in his Master's language, and the orc lifted his head. He knew right away who addressed him and laughed.

"Maitimo the whore!" He howled. "It's gonna be ya that kills me then? How delicious!"

"Silence." He stepped closer, stopping just out of its reach. He looked to the soldiers binding him. "Strip him naked and bind his wrists behind his back and his ankles together." And the soldiers didn't hesitate to do as he said. They trusted his methods. Besides, who wouldn't? "Slave," He addressed again when what he had asked had been done. "Tell me. What were your plans coming into this camp?"

The orc laughed again and spat blood. "Ha! You know why. Master did not finish with you!"

"What did he say?" Ñolofinwë asked.

Maitimo grumbled in frustration and shook his head. "They came for me." He said. "I already knew that. What do you need me to translate?"

"How many their forces hold." Ñolofinwë shifted his weight. "What Morgoth plans next."

"He won't tell me that." Maitimo muttered.

"Use any means to get this information." His uncle looked over the blood on his mouth and scowled. "We will not get a chance like this in a long time. Any methods that'll make him answer."

Maitimo smiled now, thinking of all the possibilities. "You are sure? I will not cater to the faint of heart." And Ñolofinwë nodded, so Maitimo turned to Findekáno. "Finde. Give me your knife." And with a strange look Findekáno reached to his belt and unsheathed the fine blade.

"Why?" He asked. He didn't really need to. Maitimo stepped forward with their help.

"Hold out one hand." They untied one hand, the other still tight to his torso, and Maitimo hovered the knife over extended fingers. "Slave, you know how this works. Answer wrong and suffer. How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?"

The orc spat at Maitimo's feet.

"That was the wrong answer." Maitimo smiled and shoved the knife through the fingernail of the orc's pointer finger. The tip was cleaned in two, but the orc only grunted. Weak-hearted soldiers turned away. "How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?"

"Ya really think I'll answer to ya?" The orc cackled. "Ya's nothin' more than Master's whore. Ya's nothin'. Ya will never amount to anything."

Maitimo wanted so badly to argue, fight back and hiss sharp words, but he had a job to do. He stabbed through a second fingernail and earned a low grunt, louder this time. "How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?" He held the now bloodied knife over a third finger.

"I once saw ya overtaken by eight Uruk." The orc hacked out. He was obviously in pain, but those creatures lived and breathed in pain. "Fucked ya hard. 'Till ya bled."

A third finger split. The soldiers grumbled amongst themselves and the orc shouted painfully. "How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?"

"I l-loved watchin' ya," His voice was trembling, but he pushed on. "Ya screamed so prettily. And ya t-took all those Uruk l-like a beast."

A fourth finger, and the orc yelled out loud. Maitimo began to feel the memories seep back, but he couldn't stop. He was too far in this game. "How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?"

The orc was clearly struggling to continue his harassment, but did anyway. "Remember it? The- the pain they p-put ya through? Didn' they tie ya up like ya did ta me now?"

They did. Maitimo flashed the memory in his mind and regretted it. He shook his head and leaned forward, cleaving off the orc's thumb entirely. The orc screamed a terrible scream. Some soldiers wretched and turned away. Maitimo was almost hyper ventilating. "How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?"

"H-how long d-did they make ya st-stay like that? L-left ya there, didn' they? Master-!" He let out a huge laugh, realizing that he was getting to Maitimo. "Ya cried for days! Screamed and s-screamed like s-some sort a babe!"

Maitimo wanted to scream right then and there. He sliced the knife all the way down his arm and hacked into his hand, cleaving through thin bones. "How many troops does Morgoth hold in the fortress?" He shouted over the screams. This was too much. He needed information. Ñolofinwë was right. This was an opportunity they couldn't miss. He just needed to raise the stakes. Use methods of his Master.

Maitimo leaned forward and gripped the orc's face with his remaining hand and felt anger and pain flow through him. His eyes glowed silver and the orc could not release his gaze. "You are my slave now. You- belong- to- me." Maitimo was too frustrated to continue his game. He used the knife to carve the Fëanorian star into his chest, bigger than his original brand. "You're mine. What do we do with newly branded slaves?"

"Ya think I'm ya's, whore?"

Maitimo hacked a gash into his shoulder. "You will call me Master, slave. Now tell me," He held the knife to the orc's teeth and his silver eyes tore truth from the thing's mouth.

"The ceremony." He said.

"Good. The ceremony." Maitimo looked around, ignoring the stares of horror from the soldiers. "Looks like there's no one to duel. Hm. What to do then?" He brought his heavy gaze back and snuck into the orc's mind, riddling it with fear and pain.

"Truth. Truth ceremony." He grunted.

"Good boy!" Maitimo smiled a fake smile and leaned in. "This is your truth. Morgoth's has how many troops in the fortress?"

This time, the essence of his fiery silver eyes pulled the answer from out of his brain. "Around- around a hundred thousand, Master. Always growing." His tone had changed. He was struggling within himself, but his soul was too corrupted to resist.

"Good. You shall be rewarded for your behavior. Tell me Morgoth's next move. Where does he plan to attack?"

The orc tugged at the restraints. "Eastward. Maglor's camp. Wipe them out, create a rift between the Fëanorians and Ñolofinweans."

"Good boy." Maitimo said, releasing the knife from the orc's face and stepping away. He looked to Ñolofinwë and sent a genuine smile. "I have all you need."

"What did he say?" Ñolofinwë could barely believe they had such a useful resource.

"Morgoth currently holds one hundred thousand or more troops, and he plans to attack eastward, at- what is Maglor's camp? Is that a name?" He considered, and Findekáno stuck a few words in.

"Maglor is a Sindarin name. For Makalaurë."

Maitimo's blood ran cold. "I need to go. I need to tell Káno, they're going to kill him- they- they're going to capture him." At the thought, Maitimo shivered and tried turning to- Eru knows where, but his uncle and cousin stopped him.

"We will send word promptly. You are too weak now to travel." Ñolofinwë held him still. "Is there anything else the orc said?"

"Morgoth wishes to create a rift between our families. At least, further than it already is." Maitimo couldn't get his mind off Makalaurë. "That is all. Can I kill him?"

"No. We will keep him here. Time may reveal more secrets." Ñolofinwë did not think it wise to kill him right away. "As for you... Findekáno, tell someone to fill a tub. He needs to wash. After that, he needs sleep. A long rest. I will take him back myself, you fetch what we need. Okay?" Ñolofinwë looked over his son, who sent Maitimo a loving gaze and ran off. Holding Maitimo's full weight was difficult, but it was not much for him. He had lifted more.

Maitimo, however, was not even willing to walk. The interrogation seemed to have taken something out of him, and he was trembling. They were almost back to the tent and Ñolofinwë realized he was sobbing. He was pushed to his limits. Ñolofinwë debated with himself whether it was a smart idea to force his nephew into such a situation. The answer was probably not.

"Please just let me sleep." He begged. Not a moment later Findekáno entered, a huge tub of water sloshing in his arms. He set it down with a great amount of effort. "I want to sleep."

"Not going to happen." Findekáno said. "Thank you father, for bringing him back. You can go."

Ñolofinwë nodded and left. He saw no reason to stay, and besides, he needed to help the men clean up this mess. He decided to let his son deal with the aftermath of Maitimo.

The soldiers were whispering amongst themselves. Maedhros the Tall. His height had allowed him to see the orcs from all their ways away, and his magic killed his enemies. His eyes scare away any orc and strikes fear in Morgoth. It was no name of Valiance or Greatness, but it was a name fit for a Son of Fëanor. The story and name spread like wildfire, filling the minds and mouths of everyone in the camp overnight. Ñolofinwë didn't know what to think. Moryo was horrified. He was sent just before dawn with the message to Maglor's camp, the biggest establishment among the Fëanorians.

In the tent that held Maitimo, however, Findekáno was having trouble with coaxing his cousin to bathe. It was cold, he said, and he didn't wish to undress. Findekáno found it was an excuse for not wanting to show his body.

"I promise I don't think badly of you, Nelyo." He said, tugging the tunic over his head and being careful of his right arm and the sling. "There is no reason for you to fear my eyes on you. I have seen you before," He added, when Maitimo tried covering his torso with his arms. "In Valinor. By the sea, at night. Do you not remember?"

"I remember." He grumbled. "Though I wish not to."

"Why? It was a delightful night." Findekáno knelt beside the edge of the bed, where he sat, and took his hand. "I do not want you to feel bad, Nelyo. I love you. I hate to see you in pain."

Maitimo raised his head to stare at Findekáno. "Please don't look."

"I will try not to." He considered this a good compromise and tugged off his pants. And he did try not to look, but even out of the corner of his eyes he could see the deep scars on his thighs. Those would never heal. "Come on." Findekáno lifted him to stand and took the few steps to the filled tub, steaming gently with heat. "Step in. Can you lift your leg at all?" Maitimo nodded and was able to climb in and sink down, sighing with exhaustion and closing his eyes.

"I could just sleep here." He said, the heated water seeping into his skin.

"Do not fall asleep." Findekáno grabbed a towel from the table and sunk down to his side. "Keep your- wrist above the water." He didn't want to reach over and touch it, his heart still stopping every time he looked at it, but Maitimo kept the tightly wrapped bandage above the water. Findekáno got to work scrubbing the blood off of his teeth and shoulders and neck, a little disgusted by the sheer amount of it. Someone had moved the body from the floor, but it would still have to be cleaned. Blood was everywhere.

"You're staring." Maitimo was studying Findekáno's eyes. "You're wondering how I tore out his throat."

"It's just-" There was no use keeping anything from Maitimo. "It's scares me to think of what you went through there. And how you could just... do that."

Maitimo thought about what he was saying. He didn't think he was any use keeping anything to himself either, clearly, since tears rolled down his cheeks and mingled with the congealed blood at his chin. "That is nothing." He admitted. Findekáno realized he was about to tell him something about his time in Angband. "The orc your father made me- made me interrogate..." He avoided his gaze now, thinking back to the orc and what he'd said. Findekáno shivered as he remember the brutality Maitimo used to get answers. "He was- he was trying to get me to break, too. He spoke of one specific time, when Master-" He choked and sputtered for a second, keeling over and sobbing. He was actively trying to be quiet, but it was too hard. "I didn't even- do anything wrong-! I worked at the- the mines all d-day, all that week, and I- Master said I was to report to- to him. Nothing wrong, I didn't- and I got there, and there were eight- eight of them, eight Uruk, and they- they-" He wailed and roughed a hand through his hair, beginning to lose it. Findekáno didn't know what to do.

"Shh." He whispered. "It's okay, you're here now, I have you."

Maitimo shook his head. "They tied me to the ceiling. Like they- like they usually did. They- they shaved me clean and- and gagged me, and I screamed and screamed but they- they wouldn't let me go, they couldn't... and Master left me to them, he left me and- and they broke me- they were so- so rough and- so much blood, I- I couldn't breathe, they choked me- they left me to rot, I wanted to die, I had enough- it was too much, too much, I-" He screamed in pain and lurched forward, grabbing Findekáno's shoulder and calming slightly. He looked fearful. "I'm sorry, I can't- I can't be with you, I can't let you... Like we used to, in Valinor... I can't, I can't do it- it was too much, it's just too much..."

He flinched as Findekáno opened his mouth, terrified to what he'd say, but Findekáno didn't realize it was such a big deal. "That's not something I'm worried about, Nelyo. You know I'd do anything for you. This isn't something you should be worried about."

"You know I- I love you, I need you to know." He tried evening his voice, calming a little more when Findekáno nodded. He seemed exhausted, even. His panic always made him tired. Findekáno scrubbed off a last bit of blood from his face and neck and placed the towel aside.

"You ready?" Findekáno stood by the tub. "Do you think you can stand?" But Nelyo shook his head, and so Findekáno complied to lift him entirely in his arms. He was still lighter than he should be. This time, he couldn't ignore the scars, and quickly skimmed over them. Bile rose in his throat. They were so harshly made, cuts and gashes so clearly in the shape of fingernails or hand prints that Findekáno could barely stand it. The thought of someone hurting Maitimo, so good and beautiful and pure, made him want to hunt down those people and murder them.

"Don't look." Maitimo murmured as Findekáno set him in the bed. "Don't look. Please."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He stood and grabbed a clean tunic and pants, helping his cousin dress and finally covered him with new sheets. "Good night, Nelyo. Sleep well."

Maitimo was too tired to complain about Findekáno leaving. They both needed their sleep, anyway, and Maitimo especially needed his strength to recover. Findekáno left him alone in the dark with nothing but thoughts of hands on his body and the dark cold of his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a minute wow I have a lot of stuff written out I’m gonna spam


	9. Chapter 9

A full month passed without incident. Rumors spread through the camp that Maedhros the Tall was training to build up strength to beat Morgoth, and that he meant to tear the foundations of Angband from it's roots with his power. Fingon told Maitimo these stories, and Maitimo found laughter from deep within him. He loved the rumors. It gave him pride to do exactly what they assumed of him.

Ñolofinwë kept his self-promise to use his nephew to counteract the attacks from Morgoth. Once every few days, he'd bring Maitimo outside (with Fingon's help, of course), and let him sit. Ñolofinwë watched him closely, but never again did he have the reaction he did before the last attack.

The night after that attack, Maitimo's nightmares returned full force; and stayed that way every night since. Only if Fingon was there, and only if he was willing to stay beside his bed, did the nightmares subside. Fingon had no solution. Maitimo would simply have to live with them.

He began to be able to walk almost on his own, using his cousin and uncle only for balance. His right shoulder healed quicker than any of the nurses or Belegurel expected, though his ghost hand remained as painful as ever, refusing to improve. When his body was able to take in painkillers again, he asked for them relentlessly and often. He was always in pain, always under the grasp of his Master, and so he seeked relief.

Maglor began to send messengers wishing to take Maitimo back. He was needed at their main camp. His people needed him. Findekáno said the same thing every time; he is not ready. Maitimo could not even write with his left hand. They practiced together, a little bit each day. Findekáno taught him the beginnings of Sindarin and how to write it. Some days they began on Westeron, the Common Tongue among native peoples. Maitimo doubted he'd come across these native hobbits and men, but he went along with Findekáno's wishes. Besides, if he did meet them, he could have them teach him. He had a feeling Findekáno's Westeron was very bad.

"What's this word?" This day was Sindarin, and they were reading through poetry. Maitimo thought it was all terribly boring.

"Red." He responded, studying Findekáno's face as he went on to read the next sentence. Wrinkles were forming around his eyes. He looked older than he did in Valinorë.

"Are you paying attention?" Those soft brown eyes were studying him now.

"Of course. Go on."

"I asked you what this said." He pointed to the line on the page. Maitimo read the writing carefully and went back to correct it to make sense.

"With red hair as beaut-" He paused, crinkling his nose to focus and make out the strange swirling letters. "-Beautiful as the sunset, he was- mag-ni-f-" He frowned. "I don't know this word."

"Yes you do. Try again." Findekáno tapped his fingers on on the page, snuggling closer. They were smushed together on the bed, Findekáno on Maitimo's left side.

"Magnolia." He offered.

"Try again."

"Mag-ian."

"Again."

"Magma."

"You have -mag correct."

"Magpie."

"No. Nelyo, come now. Read the word. You know it."

Maitimo rolled his eyes and turned his face down to the paper. He squinted. "Magnificent."

"Yes! Yes, that's it. Now read the whole passage."

He did. "With red hair as beautiful as the sunset, he was magnificent." He read, and paused, and let out a howl of a laugh. "Finde, you're the absolute worst, you know that?"

But Findekáno was smiling. "You love it. What would you rather read? Boring poetry?"

"This is boring poetry." He argued, stopping laughing because it hurt. "Did you write this yourself? Is this how you spend your precious time?"

"Of course it is. You know I could write boring poetry about you for days."

"You already do, it seems." Maitimo was grinning widely. His side and stomach hurt from the laughter, but he didn't really notice. It seemed hot in the room, though it was harshly cold outside.

"You're staring again." Findekáno flushed red. He was avoiding Maitimo's eyes.

"I know." He leaned towards him, eyes relaxed and smiling warmly. Findekáno could feel his breath on his neck, and a shiver snaked down his spine. "It's hot in here." And he nudged his head into the crook of his neck.

"Nelyo..." He tried leaning away from the touch, but it was too warm and he really couldn't resist. Maitimo kissed his neck in little breaths, wrapping his left arm around Findekáno's shoulders. It was so nice, so enticing... But he couldn't give any of the touch back. He was too scared to hurt him or scare him. So he let Maitimo kiss down his neck, holding him close and nuzzling him. It was unbearable. Maitimo nibbled skin at the base of his throat and a low moan slipped out of Findekáno's lips. Maitimo just went to kiss him full on the lips when the flap of the tent swung wide open, and Ñolofinwë stepped through.

"Oh-" He coughed awkwardly, turning to step out. Findekáno pushed away and stood as quickly and carefully as he could. "I'll- go."

"Uncle, what is it you need me for?" Maitimo sat up and smiled. "There is no need to leave."

"I was going to let in a messenger – someone from your brother's camp." He still couldn't make eye contact, shifting on his feet and seeming very embarrassed indeed. Maitimo couldn't figure out why. "If now is a bad time..."

"Send them in." Maitimo gestured to the flap and glanced at Findekáno, who was righting his clothes as clearing his throat. There was a mark on his collarbone where Maitimo had bit the skin, and he hurriedly covered it. The flap of the tent was pulled aside, and in walked an abnormally short elf, Sindar by the clothes he wore, holding a letter presumably from Maglor.

"My King," He bowed to both Ñolofinwë and Maitimo, and turned to the bed. "Your brother asks for you."

"I'm aware." Maitimo chewed his lip and raised his chin. "Why have you addressed me as King? I am no King."

"Uh-" It was Ñolofinwë that spoke. "I have arranged that you hold the crown until you are well enough for a coronation. It only seemed fair, after you so generously offered-"

"I did not offer." He had turned suddenly as stern as Fëanor had been. Ñolofinwë shivered at the memories of his half-brother's anger. "It is yours. Why have you not taken my place yet? Our people need a leader, and as of right now we have none."

Ñolofinwë glanced at the messenger and his son uncomfortably. "This is hardly the time or place to discuss this. Your brother has sent a letter." He gestured for the short Sindarin man to bring the paper to Maitimo. He took it and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. It was silent as he read the message, his thick eyebrows crinkling and furrowing with annoyance and concentration. It must've been a few minutes before Maitimo rubbed his face in his hand and looked up.

"Send word back to Káno that I will return when I can walk without aid. Three weeks at most. At that point, I will hand down my crown ceremoniously, since it is so important, and travel to the main camp." He looked to the Sindar, who looked to Ñolofinwë for a full translation. He gave it and the messenger nodded and left, not without bowing to Maitimo and Ñolofinwë.

Maitimo stood and grabbed Findekáno's shoulder. "Uncle," His voice was a growl. "Where have you kept my father's crown? Bring it here immediately. We are going to discuss the changes we will make and send it to Curvo to fix."

"He will not do it." Findekáno pointed out.

"He will if he would like to avoid committing treason." Maitimo hissed. His anger was a fire, sparking his silver eyes and sending his hair wavering like flames. He had his father's spirit. It was the first time Ñolofinwë had seen it in him.

"He will commit treason. He would rather that than succumb to my rule." He said, stepping forward. "Give the crown to one of my smiths. They will fix it."

"Your smiths will ruin a priceless piece of jewelry crafted by the greatest smith of our Age. No, Curvo will do it. Or he will hear from me."

Findekáno thought to say, "Then he will hear from you," but he didn't wish to further anger Maitimo. Instead he went with him when he stepped forward, keeping him upright and balanced. He was trying to walk outside.

"Nelyo?" He asked, still mildly confused. "What is it?"

"There's someone here." His eyes were wide and Findekáno was almost positive he saw his eyes flash with light. Maybe it was a reflection. "Someone's here."

"What do you mean?" Ñolofinwë stepped away as he went for the flap. His heart was pounding. "Another attack?"

"No." He stepped past, and Ñolofinwë could breathe again. Just as he went to pull the flap aside, someone from the outside came in with a determined energy. The force in which the person entered knocked Maitimo over, sending him to the floor with a grunt. Findekáno yelped and jumped back, lunging to help Maitimo back up.

"Don't." He hissed. He'd caught his fall with his blunt wrist, and Findekáno didn't know how he hadn't screamed in pain. Was he on painkillers? He didn't remember. Maitimo stood nevertheless, trembling and holding his right arm close to his chest.

"Pityo." He greeted. His voice shook. In front of him stood the youngest living brother, looking even smaller than the last time they'd seen him. His russet hair was pulled into a bun on his head, freckles covered every inch of pale skin, and he wore traveling clothes worn down from years of use. "What are you doing here?"

"Káno sent me." His voice was quiet and shy. "I need to bring you back, he said."

"But why are you here?" Maitimo leaned towards his smaller brother and his uncle and cousin were forgotten. "The wilds of Arda are no place for you. Why has Káno sent you? Why not Moryo or Curvo or Tyelko?"

"He said- he said I was expendable-"

"You aren't." Maitimo hadn't used that tone in a long while. "Did he say that?"

"No..." Pityo avoided his gaze and sighed. "But it was implied." He looked down and kicked the dirt. "Anyway, Káno told me to bring you back. He said not to come back without you."

"Then I suppose you are staying." Maitimo smiled best he could. "I return in a month. When I can stand and walk on my own." And Pityo nodded, but Maitimo felt he didn't really understand. "I have not seen much of you, brother. I want you to stay."

It seems that was the first time in years someone had asked him to stay with them. Pityo looked up and met his brother's eyes with glee. "Of course." He smiled. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Actually, yes." Maitimo sat on the edge of the bed, looking to be tired from standing and gestured to the table of vials and medicines. "Get the red vial. Please."

Pityo grabbed it quickly and Maitimo took it from his hands, uncorking it and downing the entire thing in one sip.

"Painkiller?" Findekáno guessed. Maitimo met his eyes, his own silvery gaze softening to something duller, and nodded.

"Kind of." His speech was slurring. "Very strong." He cringed as his right arm shifted. His eyes were drooping. It was a sleep drought. "Ah- help me lay down. I can't..." He swayed, and both Pityo and Findekáno caught him before he tumbled off the bed, dragging his back to rest more comfortably against pillows and furs. "Thanks. We can talk about..." He looked as if he meant to finish the sentence, but his tongue wouldn't work any more and he passed out.

"Strange." Pityo murmured. "Does he do that often?"

"Not really." Findekáno huffed and stood back. "He must've been in pain. Would you mind watching him, Pityo? I must go discuss certain business with my father." He glanced behind him at Ñolofinwë, who Pityo shivered at his stern facial expression. Neither of the Ambarussa had been fond of him. Too serious.

"Of course." Pityo looked back to Findekáno and smiled, sitting in that wicker chair beside the bed. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Findekáno nodded gratefully but doubted he'd really need much from Pityo. He left with his father to discuss the ceremony that would take place at the end of the month. There was much to plan.

Pityo, on the other hand, watched his brother thoughtfully. He didn't know where to find any entertainment or really anything to busy himself, so he sat back and just thought. It was common for him to do this. Not many of his other brothers simply spent time to think, but then again, no one really had as much free time as Pityo. He was the youngest. The baby brother. Granted, he'd been just a child when they left Valinor, but he had grown somewhat and had come of age many years ago. In the presence of Maitimo he felt younger than ever. Maitimo's age was closer to their parents than Pityo's age was to Maitimo's. That made him feel the baby brother part.

Maitimo was groaning in his sleep. He sounded troubled. Maybe now Pityo could take care of his brother. It'd be the first time for him to take care of anyone, much less his oldest brother. It was exciting. He'd always been babied. Watched. Now he could help Maitimo like he'd always helped Pityo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new brother appearance! And I told you there’d be spam, there’s more where that came from.


	10. Chapter 10

When Maitimo finally woke, Pityo had started to nod off, but woke right back up to do everything he could to help. Maitimo shifted and cringed at his right wrist. Pityo first noticed then that these times were the most raw to see his brother. Not knowing anyone was watching, he acted exactly how he felt. No masks, no lies. Pityo thought it was the most interesting to watch.

Maitimo rolled on his side towards Pityo. "Nana," He muttered. Pityo leaned forward. Maitimo called for his mother. Pityo had never heard him do that. He'd never heard him talk about their mother at all. "Nana... don't- leave..." His face contorted in pain and Pityo leaned closer to try and shake him away.

"Nelyo." He called. Maitimo's eyelids moved, but he didn't open them. "Nelyo, it's okay."

"No..." He gripped the bedsheets with his left hand and turned back on the bed, writhing as his healing back scraped against the bed. "Master is..."

He was slipping back to his cell. Pityo bushed a hand through his hair, and Maitimo calmed somewhat. His hair was short enough that Pityo could slide his hand right through it, and so he sat there serenely petting Maitimo until he slept peacefully again. He didn't wake for the rest of the day. Pityo only stopped his movement when he had to eat dinner, but set the plate away for if Maitimo woke and was hungry.

Afternoon turned to evening, and evening turned to night. Pityo drifted off to sleep, trying to stay awake but failing. It was then that he heard the screaming.

It was the worst noise he'd ever heard, and woke immediately as it scratched his ears. Maitimo was writhing in the bed next to him, his face contorted in pain. Pityo didn't know what was wrong.

"It's okay, Nelyo, I'm here." He whispered, leaning over the bed and brushing a hand through his hair again. Maitimo looked so small, so terrified, that Pityo's heart wrenched and he spoke louder to try and wake him up. "Nelyo, you're home. You aren't there anymore."

It did nothing. Pityo didn't know what to do. He'd never dealt with anything like this. He knew Káno used to have nightmares as a child, but he never knew how their mother helped. He wasn't even born by the time Káno was an adult. And this was worse than that, anyhow. Maitimo was screaming bloody murder and whispering comforts in his ear did nothing. What was he supposed to do? When he could shake him and scream his name but nothing could reach him?

It was then that Findekáno flung the flap of the tent aside and strode in, dressed in sleeping clothes and his hair frazzled. Pityo stood to let him take his seat, knowing Findekáno could help better than he could.

Maitimo's hysteria lessened as soon as he heard Findekáno's voice. All he said was low words of comfort, little bits of love and a gentle stroking of his hair, as Pityo had done.

"Fin..." Maitimo muttered, his thrashing now only shifting and his left hand reaching to grab Findekáno. Pityo didn't know how to react. He could never have that effect on his brother. "Fin, are you..."

"I'm here, Nelyo." Findekáno cooed. "It's just a dream."

Maitimo struggled to open his eyes, looking terrified and tense. He saw Pityo first, his gaze turning so loving that when he saw Findekáno he began to laugh. Pityo met Findekáno's eyes, confused.

"Why are you laughing?" Pityo asked. Maitimo composed himself and breathed out heavily as he sat up.

"Sauron was just telling me how alone I am." He said, his voice raspy from screaming. "And I just realized how wrong he is." Maitimo looked over both people in front of him and shifted himself, cringing at his arm movement. "How long did I sleep?"

Findekáno looked to Pityo, who stood shocked for a moment that someone wanted an answer from him. "All day. You slept all day and well into the night." Pityo remembered the dinner he'd set aside and moved forwards a little too suddenly, spooking his brother. "Sorry, I- I saved food for you if you were hungry."

Maitimo saw the plate on the table beside his bed. "Thank you, Pityo. That was very kind of you. Would you mind grabbing that white vial on the table over there?"

"It doesn't put you to sleep, does it?" Findekáno asked. "I need you awake today."

"It doesn't make me sleep, but it does make me really out of it." He smiled at Pityo as the vial was handed to him. Findekáno scowled. "Fin, it's either this or sleep. I don't want to have one of those days, and I don't think you want me to, either."

Findekáno was chewing his lip nervously. "There's nothing else you can do?"

Maitimo raised his eyebrows, uncorked the vial, and threw his head back. Pityo waited for him to pass out like last time, but his eyes just went blank and his head looked back. "Good. Much better." He said, but his voice sounded monotone and as if he tried very hard to speak. Pityo sat on the edge of the bed and passed glances with Findekáno, who looked unnecessarily nervous.

"Pityo, can I talk to you outside?" Findekáno stood and glanced at Maitimo once. Pityo stood and nodded hastily, following him out hastily.

"What is it?" Pityo asked, shutting the flap of the tent. Findekáno moved in front of it and lowered his voice carefully.

"I need you to keep an eye on Nelyo." He said. "I have much to do today. No longer can I stay by his side every moment I'd like." He pursed his lips. "I need you to go to Belegurel and ask for the Explene extract and make Nelyo drink it. I need him awake, we have so much to do before the end of the month. As soon as he looks awake again, bring him over to my father's tent - you know where that is, don't you? We'll be waiting." Findekáno raised his eyebrows. "Can you do that?"

Pityo was excited by the fact someone asked him to do something. He never got asked to do anything at the main camp. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that." He nodded. "Where can I find Belegurel?"

"I'll show you to her." Findekáno said, turning and heading off. Pityo followed him like a little puppy. He never knew Findekáno well, but he loved Maitimo so he was okay in his mind. Besides, Pityo couldn't think of any reason to dislike Findekáno. He was brave and courageous and empathic and he'd saved Maitimo from Thangorodrim.

Findekáno turned into a medium sized sealskin tent, finding a woman dressed in all grey. She looked perpetually worried. "Belegurel," Findekáno greeted, and the woman looked to meet his eyes. "We need the Explene extract. Do you have any?"

She thought and turned back to her worktable. "No, but I can make some right now. Take a seat." She sorted some plants together and crushed it with her mallet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pityo, and smiled. "I believe we have not met, Amras." It was strange to hear his Sindarin name, but managed a smile to her. "I am Belegurel, the head healer for this camp. How has your brother been?"

Of course it was about Maitimo. It always was. "He's- a bit out of it. Not the same as I remember." He said mournfully. "Drearier. More serious."

"With good reason." She agreed, pouring the paste into a small vial half full with murky liquid, corked it, and shook it. "Here you are, Prince Fingon. Be careful with the dosages, or else none of his other medicines will work."

Findekáno took the vial, never having sat in the first place, and narrowed his eyebrows at Belegurel. "How did you know it was for Nelyo?"

She laughed. "Who else? You have never needed anything to wake yourself up, and you have been fretfully taking care of your cousin since you brought him here. I'm serious about the dosages, sir. Do not give him the whole vial. Half of it, maybe." She nodded to Pityo once more, a more stern smile on her thin lips. "Good afternoon, sirs."

The two left the tent in a hurry. Findekáno handed Pityo the vial, bidding him good luck, and headed off to find his father. Pityo paused and looked down at the medicine for a moment. Not the whole thing. He couldn't give him the whole thing.

Maitimo looked asleep by the time Pityo got back. His eyes were open, but he laid so still he might as well have been a statue. Pityo approached him with caution. "Nelyo?" He called. Slowly, very slowly, Maitimo's head turned towards his brother. Pityo shivered. He didn't look alive. "Nelyo, I need you to drink this." He stepped up to the bed and clasped his brother's hand around the vial. "Only drink a little bit of it." He instructed.

Maitimo nodded and tipped his head back. Pityo made sure he didn't drink all of it and took the vial, corking it and setting it aside. "What was that?" Maitimo asked, his voice becoming less monotone by the second. "Pityo, what have you done?" He shifted in bed and cringed in pain. "You- you reversed my medicine. Pityo, why would you do that?" There was anger in his voice, and Pityo cowered away. "Pityo! Who told you to give that to me?"

Pityo couldn't meet his eyes. "I was told to bring you to Uncle Ñolofinwë's tent." He said, stepping closer and finally meeting his brother's gaze. There was fire in his eyes, the same fire Pityo remembered from their father's when he'd burned the boats and Pityo's twin with them. "Nelyo, I need you to come with me. You need to try."

"You cannot do this to me." Maitimo argued. "You cannot understand. The pain is here, always here, never leaving-" He cried out as his shoulder strained. "Pityo, you just don't understand the pain. You just don't."

Something terrible rose in Pityo. His eyes darkened and Maitimo swallowed. He wasn't nervous, but he was wary. "Nelyo, I understand that you went through atrocities there." Pityo whispered, stepping closer to the bed. "But do not presume to know how I feel. Our father, the same one who's crown your give away - which, for the record, I don't care about - set alight my other half. My closest brother. He murdered him." His voice faltered and dropped, and he let out a small sob. "None but our mother ever showed me such affection. If anything you were a nanny to me, not a brother. I will never be in line for the throne, never in need of royal duties or any expectation at all. Not even father payed attention to me. Do you understand that, Maitimo?"

Maitimo shivered. "Pityo, I-"

"-Don't want to hear it." Pityo growled. "You were always the favorite, both in public eye and our family. You were the eldest, the next King, the pride of our house. And Telvo and I were so minuscule that father didn't bother checking if Telvo was still in the boats when he burned them." Maitimo went to speak up, but Pityo was on a roll. He couldn't stop himself. "His screams are all I ever hear. Every time I close my eyes I see his face, begging to be saved, asking me why I helped burn those ships and why you stood by and did nothing."

"I could not participate in such a horrible act." Maitimo stuck in, his tone as dangerous as Pityo's.

"You think I had a choice? A mind of my own to understand what was going on? I was a child!" Pityo cried out, not realizing how heavy he was breathing until then. "You did nothing, Maitimo! You stood idly by and watched your brother burn to death, and for what? To show your affection for Findekáno?"

"Do not accuse me of killing Telvo." Maitimo whispered, unable to speak any louder without his voice breaking. "I can't have that death on my hands."

"What, like you did when you meant to go sign that treaty with the Enemy?" Pityo reeled up, watching the horror unfurl on Maitimo's face. "You left us to fend for ourselves. You were so convinced that you were a great King that you thought you could end the War just like that!"

"You can't be serious." Maitimo breathed. His eyes were huge. "You think that why I went to sign that treaty? Pityo, I had no choice. Our resources were gone, our father was gone. I couldn't let our hope go too."

"Káno built our resources back up," Pityo said. "He brought hope back while your dear cousin searched for you on that cliff. You return and expect all of us to treat you just like our lost King, but you aren't. You've changed so much I don't think I even know who you are."

"I never wanted to be King!" Maitimo sat up and scowled in pain, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw and continuing. "That's partially why I gave the crown away as soon as I got back! And do you actually expect me to be unchanged after my time there? Do you know what they did to me?"

"No, because I've barely spoken to you at all for the entire time you've been here." Pityo frowned. Something had broken in Maitimo's eyes, and Pityo could see it. "Maitimo, it's not-"

"That was my slave name." He bore teeth, growling like some sort of animal. "They called me Maitimo there. Never call me that again."

"Nelyo, I know I haven't seen you-"

"You don't know me, Pityo." Maitimo spat. "You don't know the things I've done and what I've had to endure just to be here back with you. They made me live in illusions, see my family die over and over again, replaying father's death and Telvo's death in my mind until it broke me. For every scar you see on my body there are three more in my mind, burned there for all eternity, for as long as my soul lives. I may have lived through their punishments and withheld all the information they sought out, but I swear to you, if they had marred my mind or body one more time I would have ended my life myself."

A silence settled over the tent like dust over a battlefield. Pityo could taste the tension rotting on his tongue. Maitimo looked ready to break right then and there, and for a second Pityo wondered if a soul could split in half.

"This was a mistake." Pityo nodded and bit his lip. "I shouldn't have stayed here. I'll go back to the main camp and tell Káno you'll return when you're ready."

Maitimo swung his legs out to the side of the mattress and grunted. "Pityo." He called, and Pityo stayed where he was. "I wish it had been me and not Telvo."

Pityo shook his head. "I wish father hadn't killed him. Go back to sleep, Nelyo. I'll tell Findekáno you can't meet."

"Pityo." Maitimo called again. Pityo had turned and did not turn back. "Tell Findekáno I'll be there right away. You can go back to Káno. Tell him I love him."

Pityo nodded once, tersely.

"I love you." Maitimo added. He groaned as he stood. His knees cracked. "I can't express how sorry I am. I'm sorry."

"For what?" Pityo hissed. "You're only doing what you can with the time that was given to you."

Pityo left like a shadow, silently and swiftly. Maitimo stood panting for a long minute. He shouldn't have done any of that. There was no excuse for his behavior. How had Pityo gotten so wise? He didn't deserve him, none of their brothers did. Maitimo wondered what Telvo would be like if he was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> family drama smh


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last of the spam but there’ll be more soon

Maitimo left the tent with a cane to sturdy himself, feeling completely helpless. He practically stumbled all the way across camp, garnering a plethora of awed and curious glances. By the time he got to his uncle's tent, Findekáno was outside looking for him.

"Nelyo!" He called. "This way. What are you doing without Pityo? Did you walk all this way?"

Maitimo could barely breathe with fatigue. "Yes." He answered, though just barely. Findekáno shook his head and led his cousin into his father's tent, where he sat at his desk, shuffling papers.

"Have you found him yet?" Ñolofinwë turned in his seat, finding his son and nephew standing there. "Oh. Where has Pityo gone?"

Maitimo collapsed into the chair behind his uncle's. "He's going back to the main camp. It didn't suit him here."

"It didn't suit him or you scared him away?" Ñolofinwë raised an eyebrow and Maitimo had to turn away. "Sorry. Where did he go?"

"Back to the main camp," Maitimo answered simply, still avoiding everyone's eyes and staring through the ground. "What is it you need to talk to me about? Is it what we discussed yesterday?"

"Yes." Ñolofinwë looked to Findekáno with confusion, but his son only shrugged. "I sent for your father's crown after our discussion yesterday, and I got it just this morning." Ñolofinwë turned and brought a gleaming golden crown from his desk. "You are right. My smiths are not nearly skilled enough to make any changes, and the only one I think could come close to your father's skill would be Curufinwë."

Maitimo couldn't tear his eyes away from the crown. He reached out to signal he wished to look it over, so Ñolofinwë handed it to him. Maitimo was frozen for a long moment. The crown hadn't been cleaned since Fëanor's death. He could see congealed blood between the cracks of the gems and intricate etching. "Last time he wore this, we sat upon a hill before battle." Maitimo found himself saying, but he didn't know why. "He looked glorious. Valinorëan armor, made by himself. He spoke of traitorous family and misloyalty." He brushed his thumb over a bright gem, seeming to give off it's own light, and sighed. "But he's dead." Maitimo looked up and met Ñolofinwë, his grey eyes almost white. Findekáno was stricken by his beauty for the first time in a while.

Ñolofinwë looked between his son and his cousin and leaned his elbows on his knees to look over the crown with Maitimo. "I was thinking of only a few changes, simple changes." He said, pointing at the gems. "Red to blue, for my house colors. And my emblem instead of his seven pointed star."

"And cleaning this blood out of here, of course." Maitimo cracked a smile, laughing in spite of the horrible occasion of his father's death. He looked up to study his uncle's face for a moment. "And with your complexion and darker skin, I'd try some sort of... Hm..." Maitimo looked back at the crown and handed it to Ñolofinwë. "Put it on."

Immediately Ñolofinwë looked caught off guard, inexplicably nervous, but Maitimo nodded and gave him a look in such a way that he had to place it on his head. Maitimo looked much like his father, or at least his expression and his eyes did, and he assessed his uncle and the crown and their colors between.

"It's not right." He pursed his lips and placed his chin on his left hand.

"What's not right?" Findekáno asked, wanting to be involved a little more. He couldn't find anything wrong with it, other than what his father had said already - blue stones and the change of insignia.

"The gems shall be blue, of course, but your hair will reflect it darker and the gold will not shine." Maitimo looked to Findekáno and raised his eyebrows. "Right? He has- you both have a cooler undertone in your skin, my father had a warmer undertone."

"So what do you suppose we do?" Ñolofinwë held back a laugh. This seemed like such a serious issue, and for a moment he felt like a young spoiled prince back in Aman. "You are the one with the formal smithing education. I know as much about metalwork as I do cookery."

"He's a terrible cook." Findekáno leaned over towards Maitimo, who let out a very real laugh.

"I remember." And he was back to pondering the crown again. "Maybe if... my father wrought the crown from his secret recipe for gold, the purest gold ever to be made, along with an aluminum carbon-steel alloy." But this made no sense to the rest of the room, So Maitimo rolled his eyes and explained. "Most crowns are made of iron. That can be purified and made into cast-iron-"

"Like the skillet?" Findekáno smiled.

"Not unlike the skillet." Maitimo looked as if he were being tortured again. "But I suppose if we, rather, Curvo, tempers the metal in a certain way, he could bring out more of the aluminum and steel and less of the gold."

"I see." Ñolofinwë said, though he didn't really see. "And you say that would better match me?"

"It believe it would." Maitimo nodded, and Findekáno began to laugh again. "What? These are some actual problems I need to work out by the end of the month. Why are you laughing?" But Maitimo couldn't help but smile a little himself.

"You're so ridiculous." Findekáno snorted, and Ñolofinwë began to laugh lowly too. "You're so serious about getting this perfect down to the color of skin!"

"Rather, how the color of ones skin reacts to different metals. What? It is a real science. My father taught me."

At this, they all began to bellow laughter. It was so rare these days. Findekáno reveled in his cousin's happiness, and vice versa. Ñolofinwë just thought how much Maitimo was like Fëanor and how his half-brother would've acted exactly the same.

"Fëanor would be proud." Ñolofinwë said, bringing the edge in the tent down a bit. He slipped the crown off his head and looked it over, shivering at the subtle blood left behind. "I wonder how he'd react to me gaining the crown."

"He'd think you murdered his seven sons." Maitimo huffed, coughing harshly when his lungs could take no more laughing.

"I think," Ñolofinwë continued on like Maitimo hadn't said anything, looking at the crown from the back. "I'd like to keep this one Fëanorion insignia. For unification. To ensure people know of your great courage in giving up your birthright." He paused, thinking it over, and nodded once more. "Yes. I want to keep this insignia."

Maitimo would've replied if not for his coughing fit. He nodded best he could, but began to wheeze and breathe a little funny after a while. Findekáno grabbed a cup of wine from Ñolofinwë's desk and handed it over. Maitimo drank a little, pausing for a tense moment, then began to choke worse.

"Nelyo, what's going on with you?" Findekáno placed a hand on Maitimo's shoulder, who stood and turned away, walking a couple feet to hack up the wine he'd just drunken outside.

"Fine." Maitimo walked back inside, his voice struggling and raspy. He was out of breath and his legs shook as he sat again. "I'm fine. Fin, I'm not really supposed to drink wine yet." He pointed out, clearing his throat and making everyone suddenly very aware of his still not-well condition.

"I forgot. Eru, Nelyo, I forgot. I'm sorry." Findekáno muttered, feeling horrible.

"I think it's time for you to rest again." Ñolofinwë stood. He noticed the dark circles under Maitimo's eyes. "Findekáno, would you mind helping him back? He seems to be too weak to make it on his own."

"I'm fine." Maitimo insisted, standing and grabbing the cane he'd used to walk before. His entire body was trembling, however, and Findekáno had to catch him before he fell. "I can- I'm fine." He was half carried half walked to the flap of the tent, stopping Findekáno before they could leave. "Send a letter to Curvo, tell him to come. Say it's urgent. Make something up if you have to." And he was dragged again by Findekáno into the outside. Ñolofinwë huffed a laugh and sat back at his desk, studying the crown and taking out parchment, a quill, and ink to write a letter.

Back at Maitimo's tent, there was someone waiting for them. It was Pityo, come back from when he meant to leave. Maitimo saw him, froze, then continued into the tent while avoiding his gaze. Findekáno could feel how Maitimo tensed up.

"Hello, Pityo." Maitimo managed, grunting as Findekáno helped him into bed. "You- ah-! Fin, watch-" He gasped when his right arm twisted too far and cracked. Findekáno apologized profusely and Maitimo sent him away. "Pityo, you came back. Why did-?" He cut himself off again when he shifted and held his right wrist close to his chest.

"What I did was uncalled for." He angled his chin up, like their father has always taught them. "You have suffered greatly. I have no right to compare myself to you."

"Of course you do." Maitimo scoffed. "Pityo, you were only a child. I can't imagine how you felt, how terrible..." He shook his head. "I always thought you were too young to take the Oath and come along with us. You didn't know what you were getting into."

"And you did?" Pityo countered, and Maitimo laughed and nodded. "With all due respect, Nelyo, I don't think any of us knew what we were getting into. That's besides my point."

"Which is?" Maitimo smirked a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

"That I assumed you weren't going through anything before your capture and that I had the right to criticize you." He roughed his hands together and stepped forward hesitantly. "I don't want to act like I'm not happy you're back. Because I am, we all are. Obviously."

He'd started off strong, but faltered and became more awkward the more he tried to speak. Maitimo breathed a laugh and gestured to the chair beside his bed. "Sit, please." He knew the Ambarussa had been trained well in the proper manners of the court, as all the brothers had, so he nodded and sat beside Maitimo.

"If you're trying to tell me something, Pityo, I'd do so now." Maitimo rolled his right shoulder a bit, cringing. "Go on."

Pityo licked his lips and placed his hands in his lap. "I just want you to know you can tell me anything. Relieve some stress, any pain. You've always been like a father to me. I don't want that to go unnoticed simply because you've had-" His brown eyes rolled down to Maitimo's right wrist. "-A hard time."

"Understandable." Maitimo lifted his right arm and looked over the bandaging. "I'm sorry if I've tarnished your fatherly picture. And I may tell you my experiences- in captivity, if I wake up in a delusion. But I would not like to share in full consciousness. To do so would be to relive those moments, and never shall I succumb to the Enemy again. On another note, would you help me out of this awful sling? My shoulder is killing me."

Pityo stood over Maitimo and unclipped the clasp at the top of the sling, over his shoulder. Instantly Maitimo took hold of his arm and massaged it to lay flat over his torso.

"Ah, sweet release." He groaned, lifting just his forearm and frowning. He glanced at Pityo once and back to his wrist. "If you would like to know something, Pityo..." He asked it like a question, and Pityo nodded readily. "I can still feel my hand. A phantom."

"What does it feel like?"

"Like..." The muscles in Maitimo's forearm moved, showing his attempt at clenching a fist, if he'd had one to clench. "Something that's been there all your life is suddenly missing. Like a lost heirloom or a shaved head."

"Has your head been shaved before?" Pityo gaped, his eyebrows narrowed. Maitimo didn't look away from his wrist and nodded.

"Yes. A few. Mast- Gorthaur never liked to, though. He liked a handhold for..." He turned horribly solemn, then shook his head and set his empty wrist on his torso again. "Once for lice, another for humiliation, a few to be cleaned before banquets, and I think once so Gorthaur could torture me." Maitimo looked up at Pityo, who wasn't able to even guess what sort of emotion laid behind Maitimo's eyes. "That's why my hair sticks up every which way. Because of the scars carved on my scalp."

"I'm sorry." Pityo said, by reflex. "That's terrible."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Maitimo thought for a moment, then shook his head with rigor. "No more of that. Send Findekáno in here, if you can find him."

"Of course." Pityo turned to walk out, then turned back. "Oh, and Nelyo- You really should learn our Sindarin names. Quenya was outlawed."

"Oh?" Maitimo huffed, a little shocked. "Then quickly, what are the names I should know?"

"Well, lets see." Pityo leaned against one leg. "Findekáno is Fingon, called the Valiant, Uncle Ñolofinwë is Fingolfin, Turukáno is Turgon, and Irissë is Aredhel." He thought again. "Káno is Maglor, Tyelko is Celegorm, Moryo is Caranthir, and Curvo is Curufin. I am Amras."

The names were strange in Maitimo's ears. "And who am I?"

"Maedhros." He answered. "Maedhros the Tall."

"Maedhros." Maitimo repeated back. "What a strange take on my name. What does it mean?"

Pityo considered this. "It's kind of a mix of a few of your names. Maed for shapely and ros for copper. Maitimo and Russandol."

"Hm. Maedhros." He said. "Call me that. I like that. Now go find Fin-Fingon? Yes, go find Fingon." Maitimo nodded to Pityo, who turned and dashed out of the tent. Maitimo sat back and thought over all the new names. So much to learn. Oh, well. It was certainly interesting, the native languages of the elves that already lived on Arda. His father would have loved to study the scriptures and linguistics.

Maitimo found himself strangely calm in those few moments, waiting for Findekáno. Everything seemed... quiet. Comfort rather than joy. He liked it. It was awfully easy to enjoy himself while having nothing to do. Besides, he thought he was coming down off the medicine Pityo had given him and it made him very calm very quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros is a smithing nerd pass it on


End file.
